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BETSY HALE TRIES 










BETSY HALE 
TRIES 


By 


PEMBERTON GINTHER 

Author of The Miss Pat Series, etc. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY THE AUTHOR 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 1923, by 

The John C. Winston Company 

PRINTED IN U. 8. A. 


SEP 24 ’23 


©C1A760020 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Circus Parade. 11 

II/ The Call of the Flag. 31 

III. Betsy Finds Something to Do. 53 

IV. The Ball Begins to Roll. 71 

V. Philip Lends a Hand. 89 

VI. Small Beginnings. 105 

VII. Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 119 

VIII. Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 133 

IX. Betsy Puts Herself in Her 

Place. 148 

X. Mrs. Bond’s Offer and What 

Came of It. 159 

XI. Doubts and Discouragements. 173 

XII. Betsy Introduces Major Has¬ 

tings. 190 

XIII. The Stranger Within the 

Gates. 205 

XIV. A Happy Interlude. 227 

XV. Big Flags and Little Flags ... 239 


(7) 










































t 





















ILLUSTRATIONS 


“It's the Same Flag, Whether It’s 
Large or Small”. Frontispiece 

PAGE 

She Made Her Way to a Big, Over¬ 
hanging Rock. 62 

She Was Allowed to Peep into the 

Bag . 166 

“It's Partly Your Doings, Miss 
Betsy Hale.” 


222 







Betsy Hale Tries 


CHAPTER I 
The Circus Parade 

^/^vH, Betsy, we’re just in time, I do 

I 1 believe!” said Selma, pulling at 
the reins with excited hands. “ Oh, 
Dolly, do get on, or we’ll miss it yet!” 

Betsy strained her eyes ahead to the trolley 
tracks and telegraph poles of Main Street. 

“It must be coming,” she said with a 
kindling face. “ Everybody’s ready and wait¬ 
ing. What a lot]of people for Highville!” 

Selma jerked the old horse into a quicker 
amble. “ Dolly’s such a poke,” she mur¬ 
mured, staring ahead, too. Her cheeks were 
pink and she was unusually animated. 

Betsy sat up very straight and kept her 
blue eyes steadily on the spot ahead where 
Main Street, with its four important corners, 
made the center of the little town. 

(ii) 



12 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“It must be coming/’ she repeated, and 
she clasped her hands tightly in her lap and 
pressed her feet hard on the velvet mat in 
the bottom of the buggy. Dolly was very 
slow indeed at that moment. 

The wide, shady side-street there was very 
empty. Dolly’s leisurely “clip-clop, clip- 
clop” was the only sound that broke the 
sunny silence. The smell of freshly sprinkled 
flower beds wasjn the air, but no one was to 
be seen in the pretty gardens or on the trim 
sidewalks. ; All the stir and bustle of the 
pleasant June morning in the pleasant little 
town was gathered just ahead on Main Street, 
along the pavements of the hardware store, 
by the post office and on the drug store 
corner. 

As the buggy drew nearer, there was a 
sudden knotting together of the loosely scat¬ 
tered groups into a closer line, and all heads 
turned toward the lower unseen end of Main 
Street where the trolley tracks and telegraph 
poles turned the sudden corner by the mill. 

“It must be coming,” said Betsy for the 
third time. Her voice was thrilling with 
expectancy and she stirred lightly on the 
seat like a bird ready to fly. 



The Circus Parade 


13 


A scurry of belated children passed them 
as Dolly came to a halt by the side of the 
drug store. All of them were craning toward 
the same direction, and Betsy’s eyes followed 
theirs. 

“We can see finely from here,” she began. 
“We’re so high up in the buggy, too. 
It’s-” 

“What in the world!” Selma broke in on 
her with a flurry of surprise. She began 
pulling at Dolly’s rein again. 

Mr. Tibbins, Highville’s one policeman, 
was approaching them with one hand raised 
high. 

“He’s waving to us,” exclaimed Betsy 
under her breath. 

Mr. Tibbins wore his uniform and his 
hand was raised in authority. He was very 
magnificent. It was only on Saturday nights 
and other high occasions that the town per¬ 
mitted its guardian to don this dreadful 
panoply of the law, and Mr. Tibbins knew 
well the effect of that uniform. In it he was 
a different man than in the everyday, easy¬ 
going black suit. 

So it was, with his chest inflated and one 



14 


Betsy Hale Tries 


hand upraised, that he came toward them. 
His voice rolled out compellingly: 

“No parking within one hundred yards 
of the display!” he declaimed, waving them 
backwards with great dignity, and with great 
relish, too. 

Betsy, rather abashed, shot a glance at 
Selma. It was not a time for words. 

Selma’s soft lips were set in a firm line, and 
her hands were firm, too. Without a word 
she began to back Dolly out of the range of 
that official hand, keeping her eyes on the 
warning Mr. Tibbins while she skilfully 
steered the buggy in its withdrawal. 

Dolly was willing enough, and back they 
went, slowly and steadily, past the news¬ 
stand, past the harness-maker’s, past the 
barber shop on the alley. Betsy began to 
think they were to back entirely out of town, 
when a final wave of the inexorable hand sent 
them around the corner into the alley, with 
Dolly’s quivering nose touching the gayly 
striped pole on the corner of the curbing; 
and then Mr. Tibbins, satisfied with the per¬ 
formance of his duty, went back to the line 
of people on Main Street. 



The Circus Parade 


15 


Selma’s mouth was tighter than ever as 
she groped for the hitching strap. 

“I declare!” she said tensely. “That 
Mr. Tibbins just wants to show himself. 
There isn’t another wagon on the whole of 
Elm Avenue and we couldn’t have been in 
anybody’s way. I’ve a good mind to ask 
him why we couldn’t stay in the buggy. We 

could see lots better-” 

“Don’t let’s bother,” broke in Betsy, good 
naturedly. “It will be more fun to be 
among the rest of the people, anyway. Come 
along. We’ll be late if we aren’t sharp.” 

Selma, whose ideas were apt to be deeply 
rooted, did not go without a protest. “But 
we wouldn’t have been in anybody’s way,” 
she insisted, as she tied Dolly to the post. 
“Mr. Tibbins just wants to show himself, 
because he’s got his uniform on.” 

Betsy laughed indulgently. Selma often 
took stands that did not appeal to her com¬ 
mon sense. “I suppose he’s only doing 
what he has to do,” she said easily. Her 
eyes were busy with the lines of people on the 
Main Street sidewalks. “There’s a reason, 
no doubt. Oh, hark, there’s a horn! Hurry! ” 



16 


Betsy Hale Tries 


They were in front of the drug store before 
they knew it, and quickly found a good 
opening among the loosely scattered groups. 
Betsy balanced on the very edge of the curb¬ 
ing and she clutched Selma’s hand hard. 

“It’s coming! Oh, it’s coming!” she 
breathed. 

There was not a shadow of a doubt about 
it now. It was coming, as Betsy had so 
repeatedly said. 

“Toot, toot!” 

Around the corner of the street she caught 
what she was straining her eyes for—the very 
first view of the very first part of the circus 
parade. She was~on tip-toe, while Selma, 
who had seen such things many times before, 
was more composed in her enjoyment. 

“Toot, toot, TOOT!” 

It was a small beginning. The very tiniest 
possible clown on the very tiniest possible 
donkey was blowing away for dear life on the 
very largest possible horn. When he pulled 
the shining lengths of brass out for that last 
loud note, it almost unbalanced him. 

“Oh, isn’t he cute?” said Selma. “And 
what lovely furry ears he has.” 

Betsy, whose eyes were on the tiny clown, 



The Circus Parade 


17 


laughed out a merry ripple, but she was too 
eager for words. She liked the little donkey, 
but human beings always took her first 
int rest. “He’s a dear,” she said under her 
breath. 

The tiny rider came all alone, riding his 
little steed between the lines of waiting 
people, blowing note after note from the big 
horn as valiantly as any herald of old before 
some ancient fortress. And he did not blow 
in vain. How the people laughed and 
clapped! They were ready for anything, and 
each toot of the big horn brought a fresh 
round of applause, until a sudden clatter of 
many hoofs, a great crackling of whips and a 
rumble of wheels turned their eyes back to 
the crook of the street again. 

Here it was, glittering with gold scroll-work 
and flaming vermilion from top to rim, with 
a half-dozen funny figures in flaring neckties 
and ridiculous coats, bright daubs of color on 
their white-painted faces, and a medley of 
instruments in their hands. Selma nodded as 
it appeared. “It’s the band-wagon,” she 
told the less experienced Betsy. “They’ll 
play when they get a bit nearer.” 



18 


Betsy Hale Tries 


And so they did. When the first edge had 
died from the applause, and they had reached 
the level street, they put their glittering instru¬ 
ments to use, and they began to play. That 
was music to make a very cripple march. 
The boys took up the rhythm and beat it out 
upon the fire-plug and the awning posts— 
“Rumpty-tumpty-tum”—as the wagon 
passed with its short burst of flaring melody. 
The white-faced young man with the green 
necktie threw a kiss to the group of teachers 
from the Seminary as he passed, and there 
was a great deal of subdued snickering and 
giggling among the school children. 

A crash of cymbals blotted out the laughter. 

“Another clown!” said Betsy in surprise. 
“Oh, I wish the cymbals would stop so I 
could hear what he is saying!” 

But nobody could hear what the tall clown 
on the big gray mule was joking about. 
They all laughed just the same, for they 
knew by the glint of his eye and the twist of 
his funny red mouth that he was a first-rate 
one in his line. His big mule carried him off 
while Betsy was still straining to hear his 
jokes, and the little procession of cowgirls 



The Circus Parade 


19 


was riding past before she was ready for 
them. Selma whispered that they were 
dreadfully tanned, but Betsy liked their 
steady eyes and business-like air. 

The cowboys were not so serious. They 
came two by two, like the others, but they 
looked about a good bit. The one with the 
rose in his hat bowed and smiled all along 
the line. “He must be the leader,” Selma 
hazarded. “ But do look at that other one in 
the black shirt. How he stares ahead. 
He’s very dark and romantic, I think. He 
must have a past.” 

Betsy did not stop to consider this. Every¬ 
thing moved too fast. The man was cer¬ 
tainly dark and gloomy looking. It was rather 
thrilling to explain his set look in this fashion. 
The look on his face stayed within her mind 
after the cavalcade had swept by. 

Next came a whiff of stuffy, fluffy, furry 
wild odor. A great barred cage with the 
label Grave Digging Hyena on it in big letters 
and a restless figure inside rolled slowly 
along, leaving little shivers behind it. 

“I hope it can’t get out,” said Betsy with 
a little laugh. “It would be so horrid to 
wake up and see it sitting by your bed-” 



20 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Selma’s little squeal of horror stopped her. 
“Of course, none of the animals ever get 
loose,” she added hastily. “I was only 
joking.” 

Selma looked a little disturbed. She did 
not dismiss subjects so easily as the nimbler- 
witted Betsy. She would have spoken if 
another gay wagon had not claimed her 
attention. “It’s the bareback riders,” she 
told Betsy. “They wore those spangled 
riding suits on the posters, don’t you re¬ 
member?” 

Betsy did remember, and she looked with 
all her eyes. Of all the feats that had won 
her admiration on poster or bill-board, the 
bareback riders’ had been the most alluring. 
To poise on the tips of one’s toes on the angle 
of a neck or tail of a dashing steed had 
seemed to her the height of dextrous courage, 
and she drew a long breath as the lumbering 
big wagon, all scroll-work and blue and gold, 
came nearer. 

“Oh!” said Betsy, and the long breath 
turned to a sigh of disappointment, for the 
sturdy figures, the square-jawed, determined 
faces under the plentiful rolls of light hair 



The Circus Parade 


21 


did not look in the least like the smiling 
sylphs of the posters. They looked rather 
tired, as they sat there chatting together, 
indifferent of the lines of people on either side 
of their chariot. 

“I never thought they’d look like that,” 
she confessed to Selma, who was too intent on 
the next car to pay attention. 

Another whiff of the wild smell. A lioness 
with head hung low and feet padding softly, 
was pacing the length of her cage, her tail 
switching and her eyes shooting side glances 
at the tempting row of faces which her bars 
denied her craving. Selma looked at the bars. 

“They’re pretty thick,” she commented 
comfortably. 

“You bet they are,” said an understanding 
voice. “She couldn’t get out in a month of 
Sundays. Gee, I’d like to be her keeper! 
That’s some job, I bet.” 

Selma turned a severe face on Jimmy 
Delaney. She spoke with calm conviction. 
“You can’t be an animal keeper unless you’ve 
lived in the jungle and trapped and tamed 
them. I’ve read all about it in the Geography 
magazine.” 



22 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Jimmy was gone, wriggling through the 
people to another spot, but Selma finished 
impressively. “You’ve got to study them in 
their lairs.” The phrase seemed to give her 
great satisfaction. 

Betsy was only vaguely interested. “Jimmy 
always was crazy about animals,” she said 
indifferently, watching the camels go by with 
their sneering, superior look. 

Selma was prepared to go further, but 
instead she said, “Oh, how cute!” while 
Betsy cried, “Oh, poor things!” 

They both meant the same cage, but 
Selma was looking at the little terrier and 
Betsy had her eyes on the big, tired brown 
bear. The terrier yapped incessantly from 
his corner of the cage, while the bear paced 
back and forth, back and forth, oblivious of 
the crowds, lost in some dream of the free 
forest and mountainside. 

Philip Meade had just spied them and 
came over to where they stood. She turned 
to him with pity in her forget-me-not blue 
eyes. “It’s a shame to keep him cooped up 
like that,” she said vigorously. “He looks 
tired to death and as gentle as can be-” 




The Circus Parade 


23 


“Oh, Betsy!” cried Selma. “How you do 
talk! Those horrid wild animals have to be 
cooped up, or they’d go around biting and 
tearing everybody they met.” 

Philip chuckled at her warmth. “He looks 
as though he’d like a little exercise. Maybe 
they’ll let you take him a walk after the 
show’s over.” 

Betsy defended herself, though she laughed, 
too. “I don’t believe he’d hurt anybody. 
They wouldn’t put the dog in with him if he 
was so fierce. I shouldn’t be a bit afraid of 
him.” 

“ ‘Brag is a good dog, but Holdfast is a 
better,’ ” quoted Philip with a twinkle. “I’d 
rather see you first.” 

A flutter of small hand-bills cut the argu¬ 
ment short. The manager and his family 
in Roman costume, bowing and kissing their 
finger-tips in true circus fashion, were shower¬ 
ing the bystanders with pink paper descrip¬ 
tions of the delights that were in store for 
those fortunate enough to be able to enjoy 
them. There were to be four performances 
on the two day’s stay. 

“I’m going to everyone of them if I can,” 
Philip declared. “I-” 



24 


Betsy Hale Tries 


A trumpeter in faded green and gold was 
bawling an announcement through a gilded 
megaphone. 

“India’s tribute to the Western World! 
The Matchless Mastodon of the Maharajahs! 
The elephants, ladies and gentlemen, the 
elephants! ” 

It was tremendous to hear them announced. 
People pricked up their ears and pressed 
closer, stirred by the vibrating tones. The 
elephants had a better reception than if they 
had come unheralded. 

The two big dusky brutes heaved slowly 
along, their gray sides drooping and their 
trunks swinging. On the forehead of each 
sat a man with folded arms and crossed feet, 
wearing a little cap and a uniform with many 
buttons. He sat stark and immovable and 
carried a great elephant goad under one arm. 

Selma was disappointed in the drivers. 
“They look like the bell-boys in the city 
hotels,” she complained. “They ought to 
wear turbans and things.” 

Philip chuckled with admiration. “Talk 
about rubber heels!” he said approvingly. 
“Look at those fellows. They keep their 



The Circus Parade 


25 


gum boots on all the time. Just hear them 
scuff!” 

“They’re pretty thin,” Betsy could not help 
saying. “And I think they look sad, too.” 

Philip flashed a teasing glance at her. 
“Golly but you’re tender-hearted this morn¬ 
ing,” he laughed. “What’s the matter 
with-” 

Betsy gave a gasp. Selma gave a little 
squeal and Philip made an involuntary start 
forward. 

“Stop!” cried Mr. Tibbins, throwing up 
his official hand. 

All eyes were turned to the place his voice 
sounded, and in an instant all was confusion. 

The man on the second elephant had sud¬ 
denly lurched forward, dropping something 
that flashed as it fell. With the sway of his 
lurching figure, the big beast turned and 
swung suddenly about, turning the corner 
into Elm Avenue with his slow, swinging 
tread, while the people melted before him like 
magic, the women screaming and the boys 
yelling, and the men shouting commands, as 
they all pressed back to make a path for the 
great gray scuffing feet. 



26 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Selma screamed with the rest, when the 
sway of the frightened crowd pushed her back 
against the awning pole at the corner, but 
Betsy kept her lips tight and held on with 
both of her slim, strong hands when the 
retreating people shoved and pushed. Philip 
put out an arm to ward off the pressure from 
them both, and though he strained his eyes 
toward the center of the confusion, he did 
not desert them. 

“Stop!” thundered Mr. Tibbins, from the 
shelter of the news-stand, where he had found 
refuge. “Stop, I say, you there!” 

The elephant merely swung his trunk and 
made straight for the quaking guardian of 
the peace, while the people tumbled headlong 
out of his path. The sinuous, gray, snaky 
trunk had just touched the news-stand, and 
Mr. Tibbins was preparing for his last effort, 
when a ringing command from behind brought 
the elephant to a sudden halt. 

It all happened in a second, and when the 
first elephant driver, turning quickly out of 
the procession, brought the runaway to a 
halt, the man on his back had recovered 
somewhat and was groping confusedly for his 



The Circus Parade 


27 


goad. Betsy saw a flash of shining steel and 
a grimy paw held up near the driver’s listless 
hand. Philip’s voice sounded rather dis¬ 
appointed. “ Jimmy’s giving him the ankus, 
so it’s all right,” he said, reassuring them. 
“ Golly, I’d like to have seen what old Tib- 
bins would have done next, though.” 

The driver sat for a moment, staring about 
in dazed fashion. Mr. Tibbins came out of his 
retreat, and the screams of the excited crowd 
were hushed. A murmur and a ripple of 
agitated laughter ran about. The elephant 
stood very quiet, swaying contentedly, seem¬ 
ing well enough pleased with the quiet side 
street. The lull was as sudden as the com¬ 
motion had been, and voices could be heard 
very plainly. People were recovering from 
the shock of fright, and they began to justify 
their terror by indignant comment. 

A woman in a prim hat and severe face was 
clearly heard. “How disgusting!” she said 
sharply. “ Intoxicated on the public highway. 
A fine advertisement for their paltry show, 
indeed!” A cheery individual with a double¬ 
chin laughed comfortably. “Don’t be too 
hard on the pore feller, lady. You don’t 



28 


Betsy Hale Tries 


know his temptations like us fellers do. 
See, he’s settin’ up and takin’ notice. Think 
the best of him, do.” Other voices could be 
heard complaining of the laxity of the author¬ 
ities that suffered such accidents. Mr. Tib- 
bins’ name was plain enough in that quarter. 
But nobody listened, for the man, responding 
to the shouts of the other driver, had turned 
his elephant and was making his way back to 
the procession, which had considerately waited 
for him. The band, which had plunged 
humorously into “Where is My Wandering 
Boy Tonight?” struck gaily into “Hail to 
the Chief” as he drew near. 

When he had swung into line again, he 
turned to the crowds on the drug store corner 
through which he had twice made his unex¬ 
pected progress. 

“Salaam!” he cried, in a curiously muffled 
voice. “Salaam!” 

And so he passed out of sight with the 
others and the people all drew a long breath 
of relief to see him pass once again erect and 
with folded arms and crossed feet, albeit with 
a waving sense of importance about him that 
drew their eyes still with him as far as he 
could be seen. 



The Circus Parade 


29 


“Well, he didn’t quite squash us,” said 
Selma gratefully. “I expected him to tread 
on us next-” 

A shriek of escaping steam caught away 
her words of thanksgiving. There was a 
rumble of heavy wheels, and a sight of a gay 
tangle of pipes beneath a canopy of fluttering 
stripes. The steam calliope burst forth with 
preliminary groans and gurgles, and then 
flung its whole energy into the strains of the 
“Star Spangled Banner.” 

“ Gracious, it’s all over,” said Selma. 

Betsy drew a long breath. “So it is,” she 
agreed regretfully. 

“It was mighty short, wasn’t it?” com¬ 
mented Philip. “I never saw a shorter one.” 

“But it was perfectly lovely while it lasted,” 
Betsy protested loyally. “And that’s what 
counts. I’d rather be happy for a minute 
than just drool on for an hour.” 

“Well, it’s over,” repeated Selma calmly, 
“and now we must see to getting home. I 
hope Dolly didn’t break loose and make off 
when that elephant was on the rampage.” 

She stopped to throw a queer look at Betsy, 
as the crowd began to move. 



30 Betsy Hale Tries 

“Mr. Tibbins wasn't too fussy about our 
buggy, after all," she said with a little gurg¬ 
ling laugh. “That elephant would have scared 
Dolly into fits, I guess." 



CHAPTER II 


The Call of the Flag 

I T was astonishing how quickly the crowds 
melted away. 

The empty space at the tail of the 
procession was instantly filled with a jostling 
throng of boys, among the first of whom 
Betsy caught a glimpse of Jimmy Delaney’s 
plaid cap, while Philip’s gray norfolk showed 
not far behind. All the noise and bustle 
went after the circus parade and Main Street 
became its everyday, humdrum self again. 
Even Mr. Tibbins had disappeared and the 
shady side street was almost deserted when 
the two girls hurried toward the retired spot 
where they had left the team. 

“ She’s all right,” said Betsy in some relief, 
slackening her pace at the sight of Dolly 
dozing placidly in the alley with her nose 
resting cosily against the gay pole. “She 
hasn’t budged a step.” 

Selma untied the strap and got into the 
(31) 


32 


Betsy Hale Tries 


buggy. She was still smiling her quiet little 
smile. “She wouldn’t have had such a nice 
nap if she’d been up there by the drug store,” 
she said, as she took up the reins. “I’m 
glad Mr. Tibbins did want to show himself,” 
and she laughed her gurgling ripple. It was 
one of her chief charms for Betsy that she 
could usually see the joke on herself. 

“It was a pretty good parade for this 
town,” she went on, having disposed of the 
subject. “Sometimes they’re fearfully small 
—though this wasn’t very big either. I don’t 
see why they get the circus here every year 
and we never have one. Our town hasn’t 
nearly so many houses, but it’s twice as old, 
and it has a high school, and three churches 
and the best library anywhere around. And 
there’d be just as many people come to the 
shows, because lots of our farmers and all of 
our town go to Highville every blessed time 
the circus comes there.” 

Betsy thought it would be delightful to 
have the fascinations of the circus within such 
easy reach, though she was not so deeply 
stirred with the sense of neglect as was Selma, 
whose father was the squire of the little settle- 



The Call of the Flag 


33 


ment. Besides, the memory of the elephant 
driver’s face was troubling her. 

“He was very pale when he dropped the 
ankus,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you 
think he could have been—what that woman 
said?” 

There was a thrill of distaste in her clear 
voice and a pucker of distress came between 
her brows. Selma, however, was too much 
interested in the wrongs of her native place 
to be much concerned. “I don’t know,” she 
replied. “He was very wobbly. But High- 
ville always has something queer going on. 
They have lots of strangers, and they aren’t 
at all careful. That’s why they have Mr. 
Tibbins, I guess. We wouldn’t have to get a 
policeman for our town if it was twice as big. 

They had left the streets and were out on 
the open road. Betsy was gazing out over 
the blue line of distant hills. She sighed and 
gave it up. She knew that Selma would 
finish her own line of thought to her own 
liking, so she looked at the blue hills and 
waited. 

“But Highville is so pushing,” Selma went 
on. “Father says that they’d have us taken 

3 




34 


Betsy Hale Tries 


off the map if they could. They know we’ve 
got a better school and library than they 
have, but they keep bragging about them¬ 
selves just the same. They’ll have the 
hospital next, I suppose. They’re such a 
pushing lot.” 

Betsy was not interested in hospitals and 
the idea of one in the pretty, healthy village 
seemed quite out of place. “I don’t see why 
you’d want such a thing,” she said rather 
warmly. “I think it would be horrid. And 
there wouldn’t be anyone to go into it. 
Everybody here is perfectly healthy. This 
air won’t let them be sick, if they want to.” 

Selma had too lately come from Highville 
to confess any sort of lack in her native place. 
“You never know till you try,” she said 
crisply. “We’d have plenty of people to go 
into it. Doctor’s always taking someone to 
town to be operated on, and there would be 
all of the Highville people, if we got it 
first.” 

Betsy giggled at this display of loyalty 
in such a gruesome cause. Her own thoughts 
turned more naturally to welfare work, or to 
educational clubs, having seen and heard 



The Call of the Flag 


35 


much more of such projects in her past life 
in the city. 

Selma’s warmth was not lessened by the 
giggle. “You just wait and see,” she coun¬ 
seled. “You’ll find there are plenty of 
people who’d go into our hospital right 
spang off if we had one.” 

“ Why don’t you have one then, if you’re so 
anxious about it?” laughed Betsy. 

Selma’s face lengthened. “Doctor is 
always trying to get people interested,” she 
explained. “But somehow they won’t get 
together. Highville will have it first, you 
may depend.” 

Betsy was beginning to be interested now, 
but Selma, with a flick of the whip against 
Dolly’s impervious side, abruptly dropped 
the matter. She went back to Jimmy 
Delaney. “He can never be an animal 
trainer—never in the world,” she said more 
placidly. “You have to study them in their 
lairs, you know.” 

Betsy’s mind was busy with the memory of 
the doctor’s kindness to them in her mother’s 
returning health. “I wish he could get what 
he wants,” she said, half aloud. “He’s so 
kind and nice.” 



36 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Selma looked slightly surprised and slightly 
contemptuous. “I don’t think Jimmy’s re¬ 
formed enough to hurt him,” she returned. 
“But no matter how good he is, he needn’t 
think he can poke himself in among wild 
animals like that. He has to see them in 
their lairs.” 

Betsy explained that she was speaking of 
the doctor. Selma nodded and went on 
comfortably: “Oh, I guess he’ll get his 
hospital sometime and somewhere. But Mrs. 
Delaney will never let Jimmy go to Africa or 
Asia, even if he had the money, and by the 
time he’s of age he’ll be too old to want to go.” 
Selma was strong on legal matters, since her 
father was the squire and dealt out justice to 
the countryside. 

“That man looked very funny,” she said, 
taking up Betsy’s question about the elephant 
driver. “Something was queer with him, for 
he put his hand on his stomach and grunted 
when the elephant stopped on Elm Avenue. 
Perhaps he has indigestion, like old Amos 
Atkinson. He died of it, you know.” 

Betsy moved uneasily. “We’ll see them all 
again at the circus tomorrow afternoon, any- 



The Call of the Flag 


37 


way,” she said, not enjoying the darker 
picture that Selma presented to her imagina¬ 
tion. “It’s perfectly lovely to be going with 
Emma Clara, isn’t it. She’s so sweet and— 
and— understanding , you know.” 

Selma nodded. She took things more as a 
matter of course. “I’m glad your mother 
will let you go,” she said, turning Dolly’s 
head into the back road toward home. “She 
might have thought it silly—being such a 
small circus, you see, and she being a writer 
now.” 

Betsy laughed.” She always liked me to 
see animals,” she told Selma. “I used to go 
to the Zoo with father when I was a little 
mite. She wanted to go, but she was too 
busy. [She was always a writer, even then.” 

“Ah, yes, but not"a novel writer like she’s 
got to be now,” protested Selma calmly. 
“She wrote those dry things that nobody 
except teachers and those people ever read. 
Now she’s going to have a real novel in our 
library, and that’s quite different.” 

Betsy felt so much uplifted over the success 
that seemed to be on the way to her beloved 
mother that she did not argue the point. 



38 


Betsy Hale Tries 


They chattered of the delights of the tan- 
bark rings and the bareback riders as they 
jogged along the sunny roadway. The birds 
were singing all about them and the blue 
leaf shadows were dancing across their path, 
while the hum and fragrance of early summer 
wove a palpitating glamor over the lovely 
landscape. Betsy drew a long breath as she 
lifted her face to the radiant sky. 

“It’s going to be a lovely day tomorrow,” 
she prophesied joyfully. “We’ll have a 
perfect time.” 

Selma agreed absently. Her eyes were on 
the little white cottage on the nearby hillside. 
Mrs. Delaney’s sturdy figure stood in the door¬ 
way, waving a cheery greeting. Selma seemed 
to rejoice in the sight of her. 

“There’s no nonsense about her,” she 
declared. “She’ll have no horrid elephants or 
grave-digging hyenas in her backyard.” 

Betsy laughed as she looked back at the 
tiny cottage with its tiny outbuildings. 
“They’d have to fold the giraffe up tight to 
get him in the washhouse,” she said. “And 
the elephant would have to kneel down to 
fit into the shed.” 



The Call of the Flag 


39 


They were joking over the problem of 
accommodating the lioness or the camel, 
when their wheels rumbled on the bridge, 
where the rippling stream was already drop¬ 
ping to its summer level. Betsy’s eyes 
slipped from the hillside to the shadows 
beneath the elms. A figure was sitting on 
the parapet there, where she had sat that 
chilly morning so long ago, and a yellow suit¬ 
case stood among the tufts of grass in the 
shade beside it, with a name in large black 
letters on the end—WILLIE WELCH. 

It was a figure to catch the eye, even if the 
suitcase did not, and Betsy looked at it 
eagerly. She had heard something of Miss 
Willie Welch, but had never seen her. 

A smiling face with bright dark eyes and 
many loose curls of graying hair about the 
temples; a mouth with compressed curves, 
as though under the dominion of a strong will; 
thin, nervous, sunburned hands were the first 
things she noted. The plain coat and the 
flat-heeled shoes suggested familiar bygones 
to Betsy, but the lace flounced hat and the 
sparkle of old-fashioned rings on the withered 
fingers contradicted the suggestion. Alto- 



40 


Betsy Hale Tries 


gether it was an odd figure and yet oddly 
attractive. 

“Good morning, little misses,” Miss Willie 
said with a nod and smile. “A charming 
morning for a drive, is it not?” 

Her voice was very agreeable. There was 
a bright sense of comradeship that drew 
Betsy irresistibly. 

Selma had stopped the horse, and was 
leaning forward. “ How are you feeling today, 
Miss Willie?” she asked seriously. 

The other made a quick, fluttering gesture 
with her brown hands that somehow re¬ 
minded Betsy of a trapped bird. “Oh, I am 
taking the good with the bad, my dear,” 
she replied lightly. “It is too perfect a day to 
spoil with thoughts of one’s interior 
mechanism.” 

Betsy laughed sympathetically, but Selma 
was not to be diverted. “Mother told me to 
ask particularly if I saw you,” she insisted. 
“Please, what am I to tell her?” 

Miss Willie sighed, looking down the sunny 
road with eyes that were dark and wistful. 
Then she shook her curls resignedly. “If I 
must specialize, my dear,” she said reluc- 



The Call of the Flag 


41 


tantly. “ I shall have to confess that wretched 
member is in sad mutiny today. But pray/’ 
she ended abruptly, smiling suddenly again, 
“ don’t let us mention it. My love to your 
mother, and bring your little friend to see 
me when you come next,” and she waved 
them on their way with a gay, compelling 
hand. 

There was evidently nothing more to be 
had on the subject. Selma, entirely satisfied 
with having done her mission, jerked Dolly 
into a trot. “She just won’t take care of 
herself,” she told Betsy as they were at the 
foot of the last hill. “She ought to have 
treatment right along, but she won’t stay 
away from home long enough to get cured. 
She comes right back as soon as she feels 
better.” 

Betsy was thinking of the invitation. Miss 
Willie’s invitations were very rare and she 
was eager. “When will you take me to see 
her?” she asked. 

Selma considered. “I’ll have to go pretty 
soon with some stuff mother has for her,” 
she said slowly. “Maybe on Monday—if 
you really want to go. She lives in a queer 



42 


Betsy Hale Tries 


old place, you know, and she’s queer enough 
herself. But I guess she will be awfully nice 
to you, now she’s asked you. She’s like 
that.” 

She drew the buggy to the sidewalk as 
they reached the Worthington driveway where 
Betsy was to leave her. “We’ll go on Mon¬ 
day maybe,” she repeated; “but I’ll see 
you before then, you know.” 

They smiled at each other, thinking of 
the afternoon at the circus, and Betsy paused 
for a moment on the sidewalk, looking up 
happily into the placid pretty face above her. 
Their friendship was only just beginning, for 
Selma had been away visiting ever since the 
birthday breakfast, and Betsy was eager for 
a companion of her own age and kind. 
Philip was a loyal comrade, but he was a boy 
after all, as he had proved by disappearing 
with the tail of the parade. 

“It’s so nice to have you home again,” 
Betsy said warmly, as Dolly turned into the 
smooth, narrow drive. “We’ll have lots of 
fun together this summer, won’t we?” 

Selma nodded, glancing back over her 
shoulder at Betsy’s erect, graceful figure 



The Call of the Flag 


43 


standing in the flicker of sun and shade on 
the grass-edged path. All of her slow, 
placid heart had turned to Betsy on that 
first morning in the church aisle, and she 
had kept on admiring her more and more 
ever since. The story of Betsy’s enterprise in 
the matter of the coffee premiums and of the 
garden seats had somehow leaked out—per¬ 
haps through Mrs. Hale’s delight in her 
practical daughter’s ability—and Selma never 
looked at Betsy without seeing a sort of halo 
about her smooth brown head. A girl who 
could do all that must be able to manage 
anything. She was ready to follow Betsy 
through a new world, always providing that 
she be allowed her own opinions on the 
matter. 

“See you tomorrow at one o’clock for sure,” 
she called as Dolly clattered in over the 
brick roadway. “Don’t forget!” 

Betsy walked off with her head in the air. 
How should she forget, when it would be the 
very first circus she had ever seen? Life 
was very pleasant to her on this fresh June 
morning. She stepped along gayly, thinking 
of the fun she was to have with Emma Clara 



44 


Betsy Hale Tries 


and Selma the next afternoon. She had 
forgotten Miss Willie and the invitation; 
she had forgotten the argument as to Jimmy 
Delaney and the discussion of the hospital, 
and her whole mind was full of joyful expecta¬ 
tion. She would have forgotten to stop for 
the mail, as she had promised, on her way 
home, if the stage had not pulled up to the 
side door of the store just as she came up. 

The driver answered the shouted question 
of the postmaster, as he flung the bag inside 
the store. “Yep, we’re awful late this 
mornin’. Freight wreck down the road,” he 
bawled. “ Git a move on you, will you, with 
the bag. I’m a good two hours behind.” 

Betsy, knowing that the mail would not be 
ready for some time, loitered outside. A 
buggy with an apple-cheeked old lady in it 
was drawing up close to the stage and she 
wandered why the old lady ventured so close. 
“She’ll lock wheels if she doesn’t look out,” 
she thought apprehensively. “ She’s very 
reckless.” 

She watched with absorbed interest, while 
the buggy pulled up so close to the side steps 
of the stage that the hubs fairly grated. 



The Call of the Flag 


45 


“ She’s very reckless,” she repeated, and then 
she said half aloud, “Oh!” 

For the stage door slid open and a very 
pale young man with one hand bandaged was 
leaning out of it, measuring the distance 
between the two steps with a crutch. “It’s 
all right. Aunt Em,” he said in a very weak, 
cheerful voice. “I can make it fine.” 

Betsy longed to help, but she stood very 
still and intent while the pale young man 
made the passage from the stage into the 
buggy. The stage driver came out and did 
his share, and the old lady leaned far over, 
helping all she could. Aided by the crutches 
and the two capable pairs of hands, the 
young man worked himself carefully off of 
one seat and onto the other, and then he sank 
down on the cushions, smiling into the pink 
perturbed face beside him. 

“It’s all right, Aunt Em,” he told her 
gayly in his thin brave voice, and then the 
old lady took up the reins and, with an anxious 
glance at him, she steered the buggy away 
from the stage and the steady horse started 
off on a careful trot, down the shady Limekiln 
Road. 



46 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Old Ellis Naylor and Aaron Williams had 
come to the side door, and were peering out 
over their white beards with eyes that sparkled 
in spite of age and spectacles. 

“Yes, siree, that’s him,” cried old Naylor 
through his false teeth. “That’s Emma 
Myer’s nevvy fresh from them big ’ospitals. 
All this time since he got back in God’s 
country, he’s been laid up and sufferin’ 
somethin’ turrible, they say. Came back all 
right, he did, but went off right spang with 
the State Police, he did. And got all broke 
up in a tussle with them pesky strikers up 
state. Got his leg busted, and a kink in his 
inside and there ain’t no knowin’ when he’ll 
come around. That’s luck, fer a feller who 
served his country like he done in France, 
yes, and in that blamed freezin’ Roosia, too!” 

Betsy walked into the store with her eyes 
a-light with interest. Although the great 
world war was a thing of the past, her patriotic 
soul went out in quick pity for the brave 
young man who had given so much service, 
and who had been sacrificed in times of peace 
for that beloved country. She wished she 
might help heal those wounds—that she 



The Call of the Flag 


47 


might help somehow to show part of the 
gratitude of the nation to that maimed and 
broken figure. 

“ Something ought to be done,” she thought 
as she went mechanically to the mail-box. 
“A medal of honor, or—something. They 
ought to have rewards for wounds in peace 
just the same as in war. He was serving the 
flag and there ought to be something done.” 

Old Ellis and Aaron had come in behind 
her. Mr. Higbee, the postmaster, was staring 
through the mail-boxes at the diminishing 
buggy, while a knot of eager old faces clustered 
at the side window. 

“ That’s him, sure enough,” said Mr. Tom¬ 
linson, adjusting his little iron-framed spec¬ 
tacles to peer out over the shoulders before 
him. “That’s Si Myers, I can swear. Emmy 
told me he was a-comin’ for the day, when¬ 
ever they let him off from the hospital down 
there in town.” 

Ellis Naylor broke in, clashing his false 
teeth in his excitement. “That’s it,” he 
cried. “He’s a-takin’ treatment, and he 
can’t get off more’n a day. He’s awful slow 
a-comin’ around, they say.” 



48 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Old Mr. Tomlinson shook his head. “ He’d 
get well fast enough if they’d let him stay a 
spell,” he said sharply. “He always did peak 
when he was from home. All he needs is a 
spell of this here good air.” 

Old Aaron’s grumbling voice came burring 
through his beard: “Drat the pesky cities 
anyway! They’re takin’ too many of our 
boys nowadays, I say. Si Myers ought to 
come home—that’s what he ought.” 

Mr. Higbee shook his head. “He needs 
treatment that he can’t get here, I reckon,” 
he said, as he turned to the work before him. 
“It’s kinder to keep him where he’ll get his 
treatment, I take it. Here’s your mail,” he 
ended, pushing out some letters to Betsy. 
He was a newcomer to the village within the 
year and he had not the same point of view 
as the others. 

As Betsy walked slowly out through the 
front door she caught old Ellis Naylor’s 
snort of contempt, and his emphatic retort 
rang out clearly in spite of his troublesome 
teeth. 

“Kinder, is it, to keep a man from the spot 
his heart’s set on, and to let him dwindle and 



The Call of the Flag 


49 


peak for a sight of the hills that bred him? 
I’d call it a heap kinder to fix up somethin’ 
right here that ’ud serve fer treatin’ his ill. 
That’s what them high-falutin’ doctors ought 
to do-” 

She heard no more, for the screen door 
banged shut on her and she went down the 
front steps to the road in the bright sunshine, 
holding the mail in her fingers, while the old 
voices buzzed behind her and the argument 
went on. Her mind was very busy as her 
feet bore her along. Si Myers had brought a 
new reality with him, and she was in a whirl 
of emotions. 

The summer breeze, as it came through the 
big trees before the store, lifted the folds of 
the great flag that hung across the road 
between the store and the hotel. It floated out 
against the blue sky, a bright, rippling mass of 
bunting, with the stars on its azure field gleam¬ 
ing in the sunshine and the vivid red stripes 
pulsing and undulating on the sweet summer 
air—a fitting emblem of the eternal hopes 
and hot endeavor of an idealistic republic. 

Betsy looked up at it with a sudden lump 
in her throat. 

4 




50 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“Oh, how beautiful it is!” she breathed 
with the tears stinging in her eyes, and she 
felt, without putting it into words, that it 
was a glorious privilege to live under that 
bright standard, and a higher honor to spend 
one’s life for it. 

All the patriotism which the sight of the 
maimed, heroic soldier-figure had brought 
to life, leaped into fuller being at the sight of 
the fluttering banner. She did not feel sorry 
for Si Myers now—it was not the part of the 
spectator to feel compassion for the victor. 
As she raised her wet eyes to the big flag 
floating out on the free air, she knew that the 
pale young man had bought a dearer right to 
that flag than any of those who pitied him. 

She walked quickly along the road, with 
a backward glance now and again at the 
brilliant floating flag. Her thoughts ranged 
through the probable scenes where Si Myers 
had fought his way. 

“What terrible things he has gone through,” 
she thought. A surge of emotion tugged at 
her throat. She did not understand how 
deeply she was stirred. The voice of her 
patriotic forebears was calling her, and the 



The Call of the Flag 


51 


blood of the heroes of New England was 
stirring in her veins. She longed to be of 
service, too. At each backward glance at the 
bright banner, the longing grew. 

“If I could only do something,” she thought 
ardently. “If we could get some sort of 
medal for him. ... it ought to be worth a 
good bit, too, so that it would be a real 
possession to hand down to his children and 
grandchildren. Oh, if I could only think of 
just the right thing! I’ve never done any¬ 
thing much for my country and it would be 
so splendid to help bring him his reward.” 

She passed the lane to the Simpson house 
and looked in, hoping for a sight of Emma 
Clara, whose sympathy was so ready. The 
house was closed, however, and there was no 
sign of life about the place. She walked on 
past the beechwood copse, not noting the 
beauty of the place as she usually did. She 
hardly saw the farmer busy with the young 
corn on the long sweep of the big field. When 
an excited Irish terrier dashed out of the 
hedgerow to greet her she barely noticed him 
with one absent pat on his eager head. She 
was lost in eager search for something she 
might do, some service she might render. 



52 


Betsy Hale Tries 


As she came into sight of the Wee Corner, 
nestling among its background of tall trees, 
she stopped suddenly with a light on her face. 

“Maybe we might get a medal for him 
from Mrs. Bond’s brother-in-law—he’s a sena¬ 
tor,” she thought. Then her face clouded as 
that plan seemed unattractive. “It would be 
better to do it ourselves,” she added. “Just 
Selma and Phil and I. I’ll have to think it 
up, though, before I tell them about it.” 

She walked slowly to the gate, with Mac 
bounding ahead of her. “I can’t think of 
anything now,” she told herself as she snapped 
it shut behind her. “But I’ll find something 
to do pretty soon. I’m sure of that.” 

Selma’s words came back to her, and old 
Ellis Naylor’s complaint as to the strictness of 
the city hospital. A momentary sense of the 
real need of the hospital for the village swept 
over her, but it was not for such practical work 
that she was thirsting. The vision of the flag 
did not reveal itself in that form to her. 

“I’ll find something yet,” she said firmly, 
as she went around the corner of the little 
white house, followed by the neglected Mac. 
“I’ll find something to do for my country 
right here at home.” 



CHAPTER III 


Betsy Finds Something to Do 


B 1 


Cf^r^ETSY! I say, Betsy! Are you 
deaf?” 

There was no answer. Betsy was 
in the summer house with her fingers in her 
ears, reading for the tenth time her favorite 
“St. Valentine’s Day.” She did not hear 
Philip at all. 

A brown hand with berry-stained finger¬ 
tips brought her out of the story with a 
jump. She did not wait to see who it was, 
but flashed out involuntarily at the inter¬ 
ruption. 

“Oh, how mean!” she cried, tearing her 
eyes away from the fascinating page. “We 
were just putting the food into the dungeon 
for the prince—” And then she saw Philip’s 
face laughing down on her and she laughed, 
too. “I always get so excited at that part,” 
she confessed. “And someone is sure to 
interrupt me every time.” 

( 53 ) 


54 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Philip hardly noticed her words. He was 
breathless from haste, and he blurted out his 
astonishing news all in a lump. “What do 
you think,” he cried with sparkling eyes. 
“The circus is going into camp down in Doc 
Stanton’s meadow. And it’s going to stay a 
week anyway. They’ve been chased out of 
Highville and they’re hot on that burg—they 
say they’ll never go there again.” 

She cut him off before he got further. “ The 
circus coming here?” she asked in surprise. 
“Why, we were going to Highville this very 
afternoon-” 

“Sure thing,” he broke in on her. “There’s 
a lot of them taken sick, and Doc Stanton 
has taken them under his wing. He was 
going by up there when the row broke out— 
you know how scary the Highville people are 
about their old town—and when he found that 
they were going to be run out of town for being 
sick, he just up and told them to come down 
here and be taken care of. He says there 
isn’t a thing the matter with them but 
ptomaine poisoning, from eating canned things 
that had been opened for a while,” he ended 
triumphantly. 



Betsy Finds Something to Do 55 


His words sounded ominous to Betsy. 
“But that poisoning is a dreadful thing, 
isn’t it? ” she hazarded, frowning. “ Mr. Bean 
died of it, I think.” 

Philip was ready to concede the minor 
point. “But it isn’t catching, you see,” he 
told her gleefully. “The stupids up there 
couldn’t get it from the circus people if they 
tried—that’s what makes me laugh. They’ve 
turned the circus out of their town on a 
false scare. It’s a good joke on them.” 

Betsy brightened. She began to see the 
situation as he saw it, though she was still 
a bit mystified. “I thought Dr. Briggs was 
the best doctor around the whole country. 
How could he do such a silly thing?” she 
questioned. 

“He’s away on his vacation, and his assis¬ 
tant was out of town, and so the new one— 
old Deacon Hobbs’ Johnny—was the only one 
on the job,” explained Philip with relish. 
“He got rattled, I guess, and then the whole 
shooting-match of the town-daddies turned 
out and hustled the show out of sight. They 
bundled them out in short order, I can tell 
you.” 



56 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“Is the whole circus here?” asked Betsy 
eagerly. “Tents and lioness and all?” 

He nodded. “Come along and see them,” 
he suggested. “That’s what I came for. I 
thought you’d like a peep at them. You can 
see them plain as piping from Pebble Hill. 
The tents and wagons are all there, though 
the big tent isn’t up, of course.” 

Betsy was beside him at the flag-path gate 
before the words were out of his mouth. 
“Oh, I’d love to,” she said with that direct, 
frank enjoyment of the moment which was so 
satisfying to him. “Let’s go straight off.” 

He told her the particulars as they went 
along up the red-shale road past the big trees 
and over the crest of the hill where she had 
seen her mother’s slight figure against the 
sunset that day in February. “Half of them 
are awfully sick,” he told her with the strange 
callousness of the normal boy. 

“That elephant-man is the worst, though 
the bareback riders are all sort of limp and 
wobbly. Mrs. Delaney’s tending to them in 
a wagon by themselves, and she’s got the 
elephant-man in her own shed. She’s a 
dandy, and she’s pitched right in as though 



Betsy Finds Something to Bo 57 


she was just one of the family. She’s as much 
at home with them as though she’d known 
them all her life.” 

Betsy was delighted to hear that her capable 
friend was on the field. “ She’ll make them 
get well if anyone can,” she said hopefully. 

“Yep, she’s taken to nursing like a duck to 
water, Doc Stanton says,” went on Philip, as 
they hurried up Pebble Hill. “Jimmy’s 
there, too. He’s been running his legs off 
doing all sorts of errands. There’s a mighty 
lot to be done all at once, I can tell you.” 

Betsy was sure that he, too, had been doing 
his share, but they were on the top of the hill 
now, with the meadow spread out below them 
in full sight, and the gleam of the small can¬ 
vas tents and the glint of the red-and-gold 
wagons caught the questions from her lips. 

“Oh, what a lot of them!” she cried in sur¬ 
prise. “Why, I didn’t dream there would 
be such a lot of tents and things!” 

Philip was delighted with the effect of the 
teeming colony among the willows in the 
meadow. “It looks fine, doesn’t it?” he 
exclaimed with as much pride as though it 
belonged to him. “It’ll be mighty jolly to 



58 


Betsy Hale Tries 


have a circus right here in town. And they’re 
going to give little shows—the well ones, I 
mean—so as to make something while the 
others are getting well.” 

“Are they all going to stay here?” asked 
Betsy with wide eyes. 

He nodded. “Doc wanted to send them 
to a hospital at first, but they were all pretty 
poor and they couldn’t afford to pay much 
and to go so far south again, so he just made 
it up with them to come here and stay rent 
free in his meadow until he had them in 
shape again. He says they’ll all get well if 
they are careful, but he won’t answer for it if 
they try to work too soon. He’s going to 
cure them for nothing, too. I heard him tell 
the manager on the quiet.” 

Betsy glowed at this generosity. “It’s 
just like him,” she said warmly, and then 
with a change, “I should think those High- 
ville people would be terribly ashamed of 
themselves when they hear that.” 

“Maybe they’ll never hear it,” laughed 
Philip. “Doc doesn’t shout about his doings 
much. He’ll have his hands full, I can tell 
you. Fifteen of them, more or less flattened 



Betsy Finds Something to Do 59 


out. It’s no joke. He’s working away at 
them like a beaver, and jolly as you please, 
except when he got mad about finding that 
some of them were sleeping under the wagons. 
He ordered up a tent double-quick and he said, 
‘This sort of thing wouldn’t happen if we had 
that blessed hospital here now’—only he 
didn’t say ‘blessed’.” 

Betsy laughed and then grew suddenly 
thoughtful as Philip talked on. He pointed 
out the gray bulk of the two elephants 
picketed near the brook far down the meadow. 
He showed her where the lioness’ cage stood. 
“The Grave Digger is there, too,” he said 
gloatingly. And then he switched back to 
the show people. “Gee, they can howl! 
You’d never think to see the manager riding 
along so smiling and bowing, that he’d kick 
up such a fuss over that kid of his. He just 
bellowed right out when the Highville guy 
tried to have the boy sent to the city hospital 
whether or no. He was fierce as anything 
until Doc Stanton came into the game. 
See, that’s the men’s tent there by the big 
sycamore. The boy’s in there. He isn’t 
very sick, though.” 



60 


Betsy Hale Tries 


He pointed to a short row of small booths. 
“There are the side-show people/’ he told 
her. “There’s a human skeleton and a 
sword-swallower and some other things. And 
the fat woman is the wife of the giant, though 
they don’t let on to outsiders. He’s from 
Cathness, and he knows where Mr. Gun’s 
people used to live. I’ll take you to see him 
when the shows begin. He’s a regular 
Scotchy, and he wears a kilt when he’s 
showing off.” 

Betsy was listening with only one ear, for, 
as she stared down at the meadow with its 
gleaming tents and gaudy wagons, she caught 
the ripple and flicker of a flag which had been 
run up on the largest tent. Something of the 
same pang that had stabbed her heart yester¬ 
day shot through it now. The need of ser¬ 
vice stirred strongly within her. 

“These people are part of my country,” 
she thought hurriedly. “And the wounded 
soldier and Miss Willie—all the sick people 
that need care and treatment are part of my 
country, and, oh, I did want something 
different to do, but this would be something 
that I could do,” and with her hand on 



Betsy Finds Something to Do 61 


Philip’s cuff she blurted out her incoherent 
thought. 

“We all ought to do things for our country 
and the flag,” she said with a pucker between 
her delicate eyebrows. “We can help make 
it go, Philip,—really we can. And then the 
wounded soldiers and the circus people—if 
there ever are any more—can be taken care 
of right here.” 

“What are you talking about?” inquired 
Philip amazed by her eager manner. “Our 
country and the flag and wounded soldiers— 
what do you mean by all that stuff? ” 

She looked at him with imploring eyes. 
“Do listen till I’m quite through,” she begged. 
“We ought to have a hospital right here. 
We—you and Selma and I—ought to do that 
for our country—for the flag. We can start 
it if we try. We can get people to give some 
money, and start it right away.” 

“You see,” she ended, confidently, re¬ 
assured by the growing interest in his face, 
“we can start things in just a tiny little way 
and then the others will do the real things. 
We can ask people from door to door, like 
the last suffrage campaign——” 



62 


Betsy Hale Tries 


He broke in on her again ruthlessly: “Not 
much of that for me/ 5 he declared roundly. 
“I’ll do other things, but I won’t go peddling 
about this village yet a while.” 

She was disappointed by his vehemence, 
but she had to yield. “All right, you can 
think up something else to help with,” she 
told him, though she inwardly determined 
not to give up her suddenly conceived scheme 
of beginning the campaign for the hospital 
which she now found was the greatest need 
that she could serve. “You’ll find something 
perfectly lovely to do, I know. Besides, it 
isn’t as though we were trying to start some¬ 
thing that nobody wanted. Squire Worth¬ 
ington and Doctor Stanton, and, oh, lots of 
others will be ready to take it right up and 
make it go.” 

They talked for a while longer, and then 
they parted, both very thoughtful: he to go 
down to the encampment in the meadow 
again, while she made her way to a big, over¬ 
hanging rock nearby where she got a better 
view of the meadow. She meant to sit 
down and think it all over. She sat there a 
long time. 




She Made Her Way to a Big, Overhanging Rock 












. 

. 







' 





Betsy Finds Something to Do 63 


At last she rose and went back to the Wee 
Comer. As she went, she turned over all the 
possibilities for interesting people by some 
new and daring method, and she found her¬ 
self growing rather shaky on the subject 
when she thought of presenting the scheme to 
the elderly and prominent people who could 
accomplish the actual work of obtaining the 
funds and establishing the hospital. 

“Oh, I could simply never dare speak of 
it myself,” she thought in a panic as she saw 
the grave figure of the minister walking 
briskly along the highway from a call at the 
Wee Comer. “I couldn’t speak to Mr. 
Caston about it, or—” She broke off in dis¬ 
may, stopping short on the winding red-shale 
road that overlooked the highway and the 
nestling Wee Comer. “Why,” she gasped, 
realizing her limitations. “Why, I couldn’t 
speak to any grown-up person all by myself.” 

It was rather dashing to her confidence to 
find what a chill that blackcoated figure had 
given to her hot schemes. She walked more 
slowly down the winding hill, feeling that 
she had started something which had already 
proved too much for her. But her spirit. 



64 


Betsy Hale Tries 


though daunted, was not quenched. “I 
won’t tell Philip that I’m afraid to do it by 
myself,” she thought with a quirk of her 
brown head. “He’d tease dreadfully. I’ll 
manage it somehow. I can’t back out now.” 

As her hand was on the latch of the flag- 
walk gate, the glint of summer dresses showed 
behind the vines of the summer house. Mrs. 
Hale and Emma Clara were having a morning 
hour over Emma Clara’s book of mosses from 
the neighborhood, and the minister’s call 
having interrupted them, they were doubly 
absorbed in the fascinating work of mounting 
and labeling the specimens according to their 
families. Their voices were low and happy, 
and they laughed now and again at some 
speech that Betsy could not catch. 

She went over the grass, making no noise, 
and stood for a moment looking at the picture 
they made there in the vine-circled arbor 
with the pink sweet-williams and blue lark¬ 
spur blooming at their feet. Mrs. Hale’s 
fair head was bent beside Emma Clara’s 
darker one, and her white dress mingled with 
the lilac folds of her companion’s draperies. 
Betsy felt very proud of them both as she 



Betsy Finds Something to Do 


65 


looked at them, for she felt that her mother 
belonged to her, and that Emma Clara was 
in part her’s, too. “ They’re both of them 
perfectly lovely in their own way,” she thought 
ardently, and then she gave a little start as 
relief came to her, like a sudden ray of light. 

‘Til tell them about it, and they’ll begin 
it!” she thought hopefully. “They can do it 
if any two people can.” 

And then she broke in on them, intrepidly 
thrusting the hospital scheme in between 
them and the mosses with a ruthless confidence 
in them both. She told them breathlessly of 
the circus encampment, of the wounded sol¬ 
dier, and of Miss Willie’s needs, and wound 
up with the words of Selma, explaining the 
attitude of the village, “They just won’t 
get together. Highville will have it first— 
that is, if we don’t do something right straight 
off,” she ended vigorously. “Oh, do let’s 
have a hospital here right away!” 

Mrs. Hale looked at her with wide, reproach¬ 
ful eyes. “Betsy girl, are you tired of the 
Wee Corner already, that you want to turn 
it into a hospital?” she asked in astonishment. 

Betsy came down from her heights with a 



66 


Betsy Hale Tries 


laugh. “I didn’t mean here in the Wee 
Corner/’ she explained, and then she went on 
to tell just what she did mean. 

Emma Clara, who had heard of the hospital 
scheme before, was quicker to see what was 
wanted than Mrs. Hale, who was newer to 
village hopes and rivalries than she, and she 
laid the situation before her in a few clear 
sentences which were very convincing. 

Mrs. Hale nodded, and the busy brain that 
had been in such demand in organizing work 
back in the city clubs turned eagerly to this 
worthy project. “Ell do anything I can,” 
she said quickly. “I’m only a newcomer, 
but I can help. Why shouldn’t we have a 
woman’s meeting? The Red Cross and the 
Missionary Societies ought to be interested. 
We could start things in that way and see 
what came~of it.” 

“ There’s the doctor’s machine down the 
road,” said Emma Clara, pointing to a speck 
far down on the highway, which even Betsy’s 
keen eyes had trouble to recognize. “Let’s 
ask him what he thinks of it.” 

Betsy flew to the front gate. The gray 
runabout grew into life size and was waved to 



Betsy Finds Something to Do 67 


a standstill. The doctor jumped quickly out, 
with his face grave. 

“Is your mother ill again?” he asked, and 
then he caught sight of the two figures in the 
su m mer house. He looked relieved and 
pleased. Betsy’s eager words were hardly 
heeded. 

She followed him, as he went forward with 
his kind face alight with cordial goodwill, and 
she had never liked him so much as she did 
when she heard his hearty words of greeting 
and his offer of service before he knew what 
was to be required of him. 

When he found it was his own neglected 
pet project that was presented, the pleased 
color flushed to his forehead and he shook 
hands again with them both. “It’s been 
what I’ve hoped for and despaired of,” he 
said simply. “I haven’t carried it very far 
alone, as you know, but with such help you 
may be assured that I shall take new heart 
for the work.” 

Betsy wondered why Emma Clara got so 
red. It was quite cool in the arbor and she 
was sitting still, too. Mrs. Hale was not 
paying much attention to the words, since 



68 


Betsy Hale Tries 


the manner was so earnest. Her eyes were 
on the sentinel pines and she was arranging 
her plans as he spoke. “I think we should 
have the meetings at once,” she said. 

They fell into immediate plans, while 
Betsy sat down on the long chair outside and 
listened with a cheerful mind, with Mac, who 
had returned from a rabbit hunt, curled at 
her feet. They talked and argued and dis¬ 
cussed, until something like a definite cam¬ 
paign had shaped itself when the doctor rose 
to say good-bye. 

“I’ll see the squire about a public meeting 
on Monday night—the sooner the better, as 
you say—and I’ll do my part meanwhile. 
We’ll make it go,” he said resolutely. “ We’re 
sure to win if we pull together.” 

Betsy slipped away then, with Mac at her 
heels, for she knew that the matter was 
settled. “I’ve begun it, anyway,” she said 
to herself. She had seen a white dress 
flutter on the long hill toward the village and 
she recognized Selma, even at that distance. 
When we are interested in the object we have 
very good sight indeed. 

They met by the beechwood copse, and 



Betsy Finds Something to Do 69 


“Oh, Betsy!” cried Selma, and “Oh, Selma!” 
cried Betsy. 

But Betsy’s eyes were dancing and her 
face beamed, while Selma was all under a 
cloud. 

“We can’t go to the circus after all,” she 
called. “They’re all sick and they can’t-” 

“I know,” Betsy rippled out with joyous 
eagerness. “I heard all about it. I’ve a lot 
to tell you, too. Come into the woods and 
let’s talk.” 

She pulled her into the beech grove to a 
fallen log they both knew. “Now then,” 
she said buoyantly. “There’s something 
we’ve got to do. It’s for our country, so 
you can’t get out of it.” And then she 
unfolded her plan. 

Selma’s eyes grew rounder as she listened. 
Her forehead puckered at times, but in the 
end she grew almost as sanguine as Betsy 
herself. 

“I don’t know what mother will say to 
going—” she began, when Betsy interrupted 
briskly. 

“You can’t talk about things you haven’t 
seen for yourself, can you?” she demanded 



70 


Betsy Hale Tries 


brightly. “We’ve just got to go tie up Mac 
in the barn and go to see those circus people 
before we make our calls, or we can’t tell the 
ladies just how sick and desolate and forlorn 
they are, and if we don’t talk a lot about that 
sort of thing, the people we call on mayn’t be 
interested. We’ve just got to make them 
interested, you know.” 

Selma agreed, somewhat less brightly. 
“Yes, they’ve got to be interested, but I do 
hope that grave-digging hyena is shut up good 
and tight.” 



CHAPTER IV 


The Ball Begins to Roll 

B ETSY and Selma had on their hats, a 
sign of ceremony. 

They had taken the short-cut in 
order to reach the extreme other side of the 
village and had passed down quite close to 
the enclosure where the circus was encamped. 
Betsy had taken that route, as she explained 
to Selma, because the sight of the encampment 
would warm their hearts to their mission, and 
as they progressed with their project they 
would be drawing nearer home instead of 
going further from it. “We’ll have started, 
anyway, even if we should meet Philip or 
Mother or anyone,” she said stoutly. 

Selma had agreed, although she did not 
appear greatly stimulated by the sight of the 
canvas fence about the mysterious enclosure. 

When, however, they came into fuller 
view of it, both girls’ faces showed surprise and 
some disappointment. For, in the meadow, 
( 71 ) 


72 


Betsy Hale Tries 


before the canvas fence, and particularly 
about the entrance, a great number of boys 
of all ages and kinds, with a smaller sprinkling 
of girls, were to be seen. 

“Everyone for miles around has come to 
see them,” exclaimed Selma. “Why, there’s 
Willie Hopkins from the other side of Hope- 
well and Marion Green from Sugar Bottom. 
I declare if it isn’t too silly to think of their 
coming all this way to see a circus camp.” 

Betsy said nothing, but her face flushed. 
It was going to be rather hard to run the 
gauntlet of all those staring eyes. Neverthe¬ 
less, they had come with a good purpose and 
she was not going to back out for all the 
curious eyes in the country-side. She flung 
up her head a little higher and she walked 
with a brisker step. She led the way quickly 
along the narrow zigzag foot-path that ran 
across the meadow, and she looked neither 
to the right nor left. 

At the entrance she bent her head in a 
dignified fashion at the rakish young man in a 
checked cap who was presiding over the 
matter of admissions. 

“We should like to see Mrs. Delaney—on 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


73 


particular business,” she added as she saw 
the young man’s cheerful though indifferent 
air. “We want to see her at once, if you 
please. We are particular friends of hers.” 

The young man grinned broadly. “Oh, 
yes, I dare say—most of ’em are,” he said 
knowingly. “The woods is full of peticular 
friends of hern just now. Half of that 
bunch out there come a-askin’ for Mrs. 
Delaney. Sorry she’s engaged so very petic¬ 
ular. Call again in about two weeks and 
she’ll be able to see you.” And he seemed to 
consider the matter ended, for he shoved his 
cap over his eyes and turned to a package of 
small posters on the board before him, begin¬ 
ning to sort them over, with the aid of his 
thumb and a liberally moistened finger. 

Betsy tried to attract his attention by 
repeating her request, but as he paid no 
attention whatever to it, she gave up in disgust, 
and turning quickly without even a glance 
at Selma or the staring, chuckling boys who 
lingered about the pathway, she walked with 
increased speed back across the meadow 
toward the first straggling houses of the 
village. It was plain that the miscarriage of 
her scheme had greatly^ disturbed her. 



74 


Betsy Hale Tries 


It was Selma who broke the tense silence. 

“Well, we didn’t make out much there,” 
she said calmly. “Are you going to make 
the calls now?” 

Betsy was walking very fast. She had a 
red spot on each cheek, her eyebrows were 
drawn together in a severe line, and her 
freckled nose was tilted loftily. She looked a 
very severe person altogether. 

“Of course I shall make the calls,” she said 
in a low, clear voice. “We are going right 
on. Duty is the same thing to us, whether 
those circus people make mistakes or not.” 
And then she added in quite a different tone, 
“But I think it was perfectly hateful of that 
young man to think we were like all those 
others. He might have seen that we were 
different.” 

Selma appeared unmoved. “I saw through 
the flap at the gate,” she said. “The lioness’ 
cage is away off beyond a little tent. I do 
hope the bars will hold tight while they’re 
here. I’d hate to be eaten by a wild animal 
here in-” 

Betsy interrupted her with strained pa¬ 
tience. “Let’s be thinking what we shall say 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


75 


to Mrs. Johnson. She’s the first, because 
she’s the nearest,” she suggested, feeling that 
such indifference to their cause was very 
hard to bear at this particular moment. 
“See, there she is on the porch. She’s easy 
enough to find, at any rate.” 

Mrs. Johnson was indeed easy enough to 
find, for she was a large, slow woman, whose 
chief afternoon occupation was to sway her 
large bulk comfortably to and fro in the red 
rocker on her little porch, which looked all 
the smaller for her ample proportions. She 
saw them coming, and before anything further 
could be arranged between them, they found 
themselves standing before her portico being 
questioned by her slow, exact voice. 

“Did you get in? Children are so curious; 
I suppose they like to see everything, and 
they usually do see everything. Are they 
very ill? And what sort of fence is that they 
have around this end? I can’t see very well 
from here,” she said with leisurely enjoyment, 
swaying in time with the large palm-leaf fan 
she was using. 

If they had been successful in the matter 
just ended it would have been easier to answer 



76 


Betsy Haie Tries 


the inquiries happily. As it was, Selma took 
her usual course of letting Betsy speak for 
both, while Betsy took up the necessity with 
her customary self-forgetfulness. 

“They aren’t letting anyone in, Mrs. 
Johnson,” Betsy answered. “They have 
canvas all along this end of the meadow and 
you can’t see a thing inside of the camp. 
But they’re very ill indeed in there. I know 
a good deal about them, for Dr. Stanton told 
us just a little while ago, when he had come 
from helping them get settled.” 

She had struck the right path. Mrs. 
Johnson leaned forward with interest. “Do 
you say so?” she exclaimed. “And what did 
the doctor say about them? I suppose you 
heard everything he said—children are so 
very curious. Sit down, do.” 

Betsy told her all that she knew of the 
sufferings of the afflicted ones and then when 
Mrs. Johnson was in full enjoyment of the 
details, she struck into the theme of the 
hospital. “It will only be a very small 
one,” she told her in a rush of eager words. 
“Dr. Stanton says that almost any old house 
could be remodeled and put in shape for a 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


77 


hospital. That part wouldn’t take so very 
much, he says, and if we’d all get together and 
push things, the rest of it—the two nurses 
and supplies and all that—would soon be 
arranged. Won’t you put your name to the 
top of our list, Mrs. Johnson? It’s only to 
show that you are interested. It doesn’t 
pledge you to anything, you see.” 

Mrs. Johnson stopped her rocker and looked 
sideways at the animated face beside her. 
She seemed to find what she was seeking 
there, for she smiled and reached out one 
plump hand for the pencil that Betsy held 
uncertainly toward her. 

“ Since it isn’t binding me to any particular 
offering,” she said with slow good nature, 
“I don’t mind starting your little list.” 

She wrote her name in a clear, even hand, 
and gave it back to Betsy with a little gurgling 
laugh. “It’s a nice thing to see you young 
creatures doing your duty by your fellow- 
man,” she said, beaming on them impartially. 
“I shall be thinking of you all the rest of the 
afternoon—you and those poor folks over 
yonder. I declare I shall.” 

They said good-bye, grateful to her for her 



78 


Betsy Hale Tries 


ready sympathy with their cause, and they 
went hopefully toward the next house to be 
visited. “That was awfully easy/’ com¬ 
mented Selma placidly. “We’ll get through 
fast enough if they’re all so quick about it.” 

“They won’t be, though,” prophesied Betsy, 
who had memories that Selma did not share. 
“They’ll talk yards, some of them, and then 
won’t sign. People are like that. The ones 
you expect to be slow are quick, and those 
you hope to be through with in a jiffy hang 
on forever. You never know how Mrs. Giles 
will take things.” 

It was to that lady’s house that their way 
now led them, and they were fortunate here, 
in so far as finding her at home. She was 
pottering about the trim flower-bed, picking 
a faded leaf here and there with careful 
fingers in deference to her afternoon dress of 
precise spotted lawn. She looked up as the 
gate clicked. 

“Ah, your mother sent that recipe, I sup¬ 
pose,” she said, ignoring Betsy. “I was 
a-hoping she’d recollect it. The berries is 
coming in so fast now, and I’ll have a big 
batch bright and early a-Monday. I’m 
right glad to have it.” 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


79 


Selma looked slightly disturbed. “Mother 
isn’t home today, Mrs. Giles,” she said in her 
soft voice. “I’ll bring it right over when 
she comes back tonight though.” 

The light died from Mrs. Giles’ face. 
“Ah, well,” she said half to herself. “It 
ain’t to be expected that my affairs should 
be very pressing. I can wait, of course.” 
She turned to Betsy with a pounce. “How’s 
your mama? I haven’t seen her at church 
these two weeks. I hope that novel writing 
hasn’t turned her heart from her religion.” 

Betsy was touched in a tender spot by 
criticism of her mother, but she retained her 
self-control, and she had her errand in mind. 
“Indeed, she is just as fond of church as 
ever, Mrs. Giles,” she answered earnestly, 
looking up into the puckered, unfriendly 
face. “She’s been away for a week on busi¬ 
ness, and the other Sunday she had a head¬ 
ache, and the doctor won’t let her go out if 
she feels tired, you know. He’s a very good 
doctor, and she wants to do just as he says. 
We all think he’s a good doctor, don’t we, 
Mrs. Giles?” 

Mrs. Giles puckered her withered lips. 



80 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“H-m-m,” she grudgingly agreed. “He is 
well enough in his way. He oughtn’t to keep 
folks from the house of worship, though.” 

It was a poor beginning. Selma looked 
dismayed, and even Betsy felt the chill strike 
deep. She rallied, however, and went to her 
task valiantly, for she had caught a glimpse of 
the big flag far down by the cross-roads and 
it had waved its inspiring message to her 
just in time. 

“It was a pity Mr. Si Myers had to leave 
so soon,” she said cheerfully. “I believe if 
he could have stayed here Doctor Stanton 
could have done as much for him as any of 
those fine doctors in town.” 

Mrs. Giles responded instantly. “That’s 
what I say,” she cried with unusual warmth. 
“He hadn’t ought to go away. He hadn’t 
ought to have gone in the first place. It’s 
a sin and a shame to send our fine lads to 
them nasty revengeful strikers to get cut to 
pieces for them foreigners with their riots 
and their sinfulnesses. That’s what I say it 
is—a sin and a shame!” 

This was not the point Betsy had aimed at, 
and for an instant she was unable to collect 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


81 


her argument, but, fortunately for her, Selma’s 
soft sentences filled the gap. 

“But someone has to help, you know,” 
she said quietly. “Father is very proud of 
Si Myers, and he says we ought to feel honored 
by his deeds. He only wishes we could keep 
him here and make him well and strong with 
this good air-” 

Mrs. Giles interrupted with a sniff. 
“That’s men’s talk,” she said contemptuously. 
“They’re all for rending and tearing. That’s 
what they call duty. It’s a sin and a shame, 
I say.” She was so firm that Betsy’s heart 
sank. She made her last effort. 

“Everybody is praising him, though,” she 
ventured. “They’re terribly proud of him, 
and I heard Mr. Tomlinson say that High- 
ville hadn’t a single man in the State 
Police-” 

“Ah, that’s true, that’s true!” broke in 
Mrs. Giles with a sudden change of front. 
“Highville never was so patriotic as we are 
here. We’re ahead of ’em in that as we are 
in every other blessed thing.” Then she 
relapsed again. “Why don’t they send 
them foreigners at the mill there. They’d 

6 




82 


Betsy Hale Tries 


do well to be shot to pieces, instid of our own 
fine lads.” 

She was chilling enough now, but she had 
shown her vulnerable point, and even Selma 
saw the loophole. “We’ve the best library 
and better preachers,” she began, trying the 
ground. “But Highville had the moving- 
picture theater and a policeman and a new 
fire truck. I guess it’ll have the hospital, too, 
and then all of our people will have to go there 
to get cured.” 

Betsy struck in as she saw the effect. 
“Doctor Stanton says we can do it if we’ll 
all help,” she said stoutly. 

“And there’d be lots of people to go in it, 
right spang off,” added Selma. 

“Highville will be sorry enough that it 
turned them out when they see what will 
come of it,” prophesied Betsy with her head 
in the air. She was beginning to enjoy the 
venture now. 

The old lady looked from one to the other, 
her mouth falling open and her false teeth 
dropping loosely together, as they did occa¬ 
sionally when the tight grip of her tense lips 
relaxed. 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


83 


“What in the nation are you two chattering 
about?” she asked in amazement. “What’s 
circus folks to do with us folks—play-acting 
critters that they are, lures of Satan to the 
worldly-minded. Who’s talking about High- 
ville getting a hospital?” 

They explained in an eager flood of detail. 
They told her all the reasons for the modest 
little hospital, and they ended with an urgent 
request for her name at the head of Selma’s 
list. Betsy had insisted that they both arm 
themselves with pad and pencil, and she was 
glad that she had done so when she saw how 
partial the old lady evidently was to the 
pretty daughter of the squire. 

“We’re going to get the names of the 
prominent people,” said Selma with some¬ 
thing of her father’s manner. “When the 
meeting is opened Monday night, we will 
have the lists ready to be read out. You 
want to be the first on mine, don’t you?” 

Mrs. Giles breathed hard. She was no 
pioneer, but the lure of being among the 
prominent first signers was too strong for her 
caution. She took the pencil. “I’d best 
set down to it,” she said, seating herself 



84 


Betsy Hale Tries 


stiffly on the bench beneath the Judas tree. 
“I’m not much of a scribe these days.” 

Betsy watched while she slowly and labori¬ 
ously wrote the line, and then as she glanced 
at the signature as Selma took the pad, she 
exclaimed in genuine admiration, “ How beau¬ 
tifully you write, Mrs. Giles. It’s like print¬ 
ing. What a lovely beginning for Selma’s 
list!” 

Mrs. Giles smiled broadly. It was not 
every stray body who had recognized in her 
present hand the writing-mistress of her 
expert past. She looked more kindly at 
Betsy. “You tell me when that meetin’s to 
be and I’ll come,” she promised. “I ain’t 
saying that I can do much, but I ain’t going 
to see Highville overstep us yet awhile.” 

She dismissed them very graciously, and 
the two girls went down the path well satis¬ 
fied with their effort. 

“It didn’t matter, after all, about seeing 
the circus people, you see,” Selma told 
Betsy calmly. “Mrs. Giles didn’t care a 
snap about them, and half of the rest of them 
will be like her.” 

Betsy was silent. She could not help 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


85 


regretting the failure of that part of her 
scheme. The graphic pictures she had hoped 
to paint of the strangers within their gates, 
suggesting the good Samaritan in its applica¬ 
tion, would have been very satisfying to her. 
She had to confess, however, when their 
rounds were ended and they were on their 
way to Miss Willie Welch’s detached place, 
where they were to make a purely social call, 
that Selma had been a truer prophet than she 
cared for. Twenty names were on Selma’s 
list and only ten on her own, and of that ten 
only five had been interested in the cure or 
care of the show people. 

“ It’s been different from what I had hoped,” 
she said dubiously. “ I thought they’d be 
more worked up over it. It’s very thrilling, 
I think.” 

Selma laughed comfortably. “They don’t 
get worked up around here over anything 
like that,” she declared. “You don’t know 
them yet, I guess. Here we are, though, and 
I don’t see a thing of Miss Willie. I wonder 
if she isn’t home?” 

They were at the door of the shady, vine- 
covered, weather-beaten house, where the 



86 


Betsy Hale Tries 


weeds and flowers rioted in the formal garden- 
beds and the grass grew between the bricks 
of the branching pathway. The place was 
deserted apparently, for there was no sound 
except the wind stirring in the leaves and the 
cry of a pee-wee from the old apple tree 
behind the house. 

“She must have gone away again,” said 
Selma rather perplexed. “ I w T onder why she 
didn’t say so yesterday.” 

Betsy was too busy looking about her to 
speculate as to the owner’s absence. “What 
a queer old place,” she said softly; “but I 
like it. It’s so different from the rest of the 
village.” 

“I should hope it was,” said Selma scorn¬ 
fully. “I’d hate to live in a place that was 
all drooping about with vines and stuff like 
this. Let’s hurry back now, and tell your 
mother what we’ve done. She’ll be surprised, 
I guess.” 

Betsy tore herself away from the charms of 
the mysterious old place. She looked back 
reluctantly as they passed out of the door- 
yard. “I’d love to come again,” she said 
dreamily. “It’s like an enchanted house. 



The Ball Begins to Roll 


87 


I’m sure there are fairies in the well there, or 
perhaps a Nickleman-” 

Selma brought her back to realities with a 
little exclamation. 

“ There’s Philip Meade waving to us,” she 
said, pulling at her sleeve, “Do come along 
and see what he wants.” 

Betsy promptly forgot the Nickleman and 
the other fairies in the exciting moments that 
followed. The lists were flaunted rather too 
proudly in Philip’s eager face, and the breath¬ 
less account of their afternoon expedition was 
babbled out to him all in a burst, while he 
kept breaking in on the jumble with bits of 
praise and broken beginnings of a speech of 
his own. Finally he brought things to a 
climax in his own way. 

“You ought to have had a permit from the 
doctor,” he told them from the lengths of 
experience. “I got mine all O. K. But 
that’s what you get for sneaking off by your¬ 
selves. We’re all going to do our share in 
my stunt. I’ve got it mapped out fine and 
dandy.” 

He paused, enjoying their eager attention. 

“It’s going to be a parade, and a dandy, 



88 


Betsy Hale Tries 


too / 5 he told them. “ We 5 re to put it through 
on Monday afternoon, so as to get the people 
worked up enough for that meeting. Come 
along to the old log and I’ll tell you all 
about it . 55 



CHAPTER Y 


Philip Lends a Hand 


N 


OW then, are you all ready?” 


It was Monday afternoon and 
the great event which was to 


waken the village to its need of a hospital 
was about to take place. 

Philip had his hands full and even his 
masterly spirit was a trifle perturbed. “ Those 
stupids won’t do a thing I tell them,” he 
confided impatiently to Betsy. “I guess 
they’ve never even seen a parade. Look at 
that Sheenlan boy with his hay wagon—he’s 
bound to be in the front when I’ve told him 
over and over that the heavy pieces must be 
in the rear!” 

“There’s a good lot of them, anyway,” 
said Betsy proudly. “I don’t see how you 
got so many.” 

Philip sighed as he looked at the forty boys 
and girls assembled under his banner. There 
were many turbulent spirits among the motley 


( 89 ) 


90 


Betsy Hale Tries 


groups and more than once, in the hour they 
were gathering behind the red-frame Castle 
of the Knights of the Golden Cuckoo, had he 
felt that it might have been better if he had 
not asked so many from the outlying farms, 
or insisted so strongly on their bringing some 
sort of horse or team. 

“I wanted to have as many riders and 
drivers as we could, but those old, rickety 
buggies and the hay wagon makes me sick,” 
he said in disgust. “The people will think 
we’re a lot of hoboes. I’d rather had the boys 
parade along themselves. They’re not a bad 
lot, you know, but some of those horses look 
ready to lie down in their tracks.” 

“They are pretty bony, and sprung in the 
knees,” agreed Betsy cheerfully; “but no 
one will look) at them—they’ll be too busy 
reading the banners. The banners will make 
up for everything. Besides, we have some 
good turnouts. Look at Emma Clara’s 
buggy! I think Selma will give in now and 
say it was right to ask her.” 

Philip brightened as his eye rested on the 
three gaily decorated vehicles that were to 
carry Emma Clara, Selma and Betsy. “They 



Philip Lends a Hand 


91 


look fine and dandy,” he said warmly. 
“They’ll make the hit of the season. Now, if 
Jimmy will only show up we can start. The 
bells are beginning to ring, and we’ll have to 
go pretty soon if he doesn’t come. Here, you, 
Tom Freeman, you belong back of Selma’s 
buggy. Wait, I’ll help you turn around.” 

He hurried off to lend a hand with Tom 
Freeman’s borrowed steed, which seemed 
inclined to be a trifle balky, and Betsy was 
left to look over the long line of the procession, 
which was now nearly ready to start. “It’s a 
splendid parade,” she thought with dancing 
eyes, “and he got it up so quickly. We 
couldn’t have done it without Emma Clara, 
though. She made such clear, neat lettering 
on the banners, and got up some pretty good 
mottoes, too.” 

Selma had opposed Miss Simpson being 
brought into the affair on the ground that she 
was rightfully a grown-up, though Betsy and 
Philip both strongly urged that although she 
was all of the venerable age of nineteen, she 
seemed young enough to be of great service. 
Selma did not carry her point, there being 
two voices to her one, but she still regarded 



92 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Emma Clara as much too elderly to make one 
of the paraders, and she had viewed Emma 
Clara’s buggy with a nod of satisfaction 
when it drew into the procession. “I’m 
glad she trimmed it with all those vines and 
flowers,” she had whispered to Betsy. “It 
was nice of her to feel how old she’d look 
among the rest of us.” 

Betsy smiled to herself as she recalled 
Selma’s words. “I know that Emma Clara 
didn’t cover herself with honeysuckle and 
rhododendron for that, though.” she thought. 
“It’s because she’s so modest and she didn’t 
want everyone to see who it was had the 
most beautiful wagon. She’s so sweet. I 
wonder what Philip is going to do? He’s 
been so secret about it, I suppose it’s some¬ 
thing funny.” She paused as the bells 
stopped ringing. “Oh, dear, I wish Jimmy 
would come,” she said. “We’re late now.” 

The ringing of the village bells had been a 
master-stroke of genius on Philip’s part, for 
they told the neighborhood that something 
unusual was about to take place, though they 
did not reveal just what that something was 
to be. Philip had friendly relations with 



Philip Lends a Hand 


93 


most of the men in the place and the three 
janitors of the little outlying churches had 
each promised to do this much for him, on 
faith that something good was to come of it. 
Perhaps the mysterious poster that appeared 
at the cross-roads beneath the flag-pole helped, 
too, but whatever it was, the bells had been 
ringing lustily for ten minutes by the clock, 
and the village, which had also read the poster, 
was gathering for the event. 

The poster, in large uneven letters, urged 
everyone to 

WATCH THIS PLACE ON MONDAY AT 2 P. M. 

LADIES AND CHILDREN INVITED 

MEN OF ALL AGES, SICK OR WELL, ARE 
REQUESTED TO BE THERE 
WHEN THE BELLS BEGIN TO RING 

It had been marvelous in its effect, and the 
various boys and girls interested in the affair 
had been sworn to such strict secrecy by 
Philip that not a breath of the real nature of 
the event had leaked out. If any of the 
parents had guessed that their boy or girl 
was to be a conspicuous object that afternoon, 
no doubt many of them would have come in 



94 


Betsy Hale Tries 


shining turnouts and fast-stepping horses 
instead of the broken-down hacks and dilapi¬ 
dated vehicles that had been granted them. 
As the bells ended their tolling, a fringe of 
smiling, half-apologetic people was forming 
on the grassy edge of the main road in the 
heart of the village, while on the porches and 
doorways other smiling faces showed. The 
people were ready to turn it into a joke if 
the summons proved a hoax. 

Philip had chosen the red Castle because it 
was over the brow of the hill and therefore 
unseen from the cross-roads, and because its 
large bulk afforded a good screen for the 
assembly while forming. He had urged that 
the various participants should come from 
various points and singly, lest suspicion be 
aroused and their meeting place discovered. 
It was fortunate that all the boys and girls 
for miles around were in the procession, or it 
never could have been kept from their eager 
eyes. Men and women are not apt to pry 
about so much—perhaps because they are 
ashamed to show their curiosity. 

“I wish Jimmy would come,” said Betsy to 
herself again, as she took up the reins. She 



Philip Lends a Hand 


95 


was driving Mr. Gaston’s old horse, borrowed 
somehow by the enterprising Philip. “I 
wonder what Jimmy will—oh, there he is now! 
How cute!” 

Jimmy Delaney, mounted on the self-same 
tiny donkey which had led the circus parade, 
was taking his place as she spoke. The tiny 
donkey wore the gay trappings as before and 
the furry ears which had won Selma’s admira¬ 
tion were cocked knowingly. Jimmy made a 
striking figure as he led the long string of 
attendant vehicles out from behind the red 
Castle and toward the waiting village, for he 
was an exact duplicate of the small clown, 
having borrowed the costume from the mana¬ 
ger’s son, who was still too sick to attend the 
parade. 

“Here we go,” said Betsy to herself as 
they began to move. She felt more excited 
than she had ever done in all her quiet life. 
“Oh me, how shaky I feel! I hope I don’t 
get my reins crossed or anything!” 

Out into the road trailed the long file, with 
Jimmy’s funny figure at the head. Betsy at 
first kept her eyes on Selma’s buggy, which 
was directly ahead of her own, and then, as 



96 


Betsy Hale Tries 


they topped the hill, she let the old horse 
amble as it would, while she stared back 
through the little window at the back of the 
curtain, gloating over the array that followed 
in her wake. “ We’ll make them think the 
hospital is a real thing,” she said exultantly. 
“They’ll be terribly interested after they see 
all of these banners and—oh, I wish I could 
see Philip. I’m wild to know what he’s 
doing. He stuck himself at the very tail, 
though, and I can’t catch a scrap of a look at 
him.” 

Philip was indeed hidden from her sight, 
for he rode at the very end of the parade, 
with a banner which no one had seen until he 
swung into line, and of which, consequently, 
most of the paraders were unconscious. He 
kept the long file before him, while Jimmy 
Delaney in his borrowed plumage rode gaily 
at its very front, laughing and joking in true 
clown style; and so they came to the cross¬ 
roads where the smiling people waited in 
patient uncertainty. 

As the first eyes caught the long line sweep¬ 
ing up over the hill, there was a murmur and 
a rustle of pleased approval—the people were 



Philip Lends a Hand 


97 


glad that they were not to be hoaxed after 
all, and they showed their appreciation by 
bursting into hearty applause as Jimmy rode 
toward them. “Here comes the clown!” 
shouted the men on the store porch. “ Golly, 
he’s a clever, one! Look at that, will ye?” 

Jimmy, who had rehearsed privately and 
with much zeal, put the donkey on its hind 
legs when he reached the cross-roads, and 
clinging to the saddle he rode the plucky 
little beast half-way up the main road that 
way. The few plain buggies which Philip 
had put between him and the next attraction 
were hardly looked at as they trundled past, 
for every eye was on the white-faced clown 
and his mincing steed. Laughter ran along 
the street as he made his slow progress, and 
when he dropped his beast to four feet again 
in order that the donkey might throw him off 
over his head, the shouts and ripples of merri¬ 
ment sounded far and near. 

Betsy, who was in the second attraction, 
heard it with a thankful heart. 

“They like it,” she said in relief. “Oh, 
they like it tremendously. But they don’t 
understand yet.” 

7 



98 


Betsy Hale Tries 


It did not take the bystanders long to com¬ 
prehend the reason for the display, however, 
for Selma’s gay red-white-and-blue carriage 
bore the huge inscription— 

“we want a hospital here at home.” 
Another sort of murmur swept along the 
sidewalks then, a murmur that had a deeper 
note in it. Betsy heard one man say, “And 
kids like them, too,” and she felt all her 
fears fade away. She was glad that her 
flower-trimmed buggy had a big motto, too. 

“Well, that’s sense,” declared another mas¬ 
culine voice, reading the lettering on her white 
banner. 

“we have the best library and 

HIGH SCHOOL. 

WHY NOT THE ONLY HOSPITAL?” 

Well, that’s real good sense. Why hain’t we 
no horsepital, anyway? Burn it, we’re the 

best bunch hereabouts, and-” 

She caught no more, for her wheels moved 
on, and the man broke off to read Emma 
Clara’s big text, 

“shall highville have it? 

OR SHALL WE?” 



Philip Lends a Hand 


99 


and then his voice died out among the other 
voices and noises behind her, and she could 
catch only the louder bursts of sound which 
told her in a confused way what part of the 
procession was passing. 

A loud burst of laughter and a shout of 
“ Hello, Tibbins,” told her that Fred Harper 
in his toy-policeman’s uniform with the motto, 

“we don’t arrest sick people here,” 

was passing the corner where most of the 
crowd was gathered. 

A hushed murmur followed in which she 
knew that the Freeman boys had claimed 
general attention in their Boys’ Brigade 
uniforms with heads and arms bandaged and 
the drapery along the sides of their wagon 
showing in big bold lettering the request, 
“let tjs come home to get well.” 

It was an appeal that went home to the hearts 
of many there, who had seen and known Si 
Myers, and the clapping broke out louder 
than ever as the pathetic group went its way. 

The procession had wound its way around 
the main road and was looping back on itself 
by way of Green Lane and the Rectory Road, 



100 


Betsy Hale Tries 


and Betsy, near to the head of the line, was 
almost at the cross-roads again when the 
Freeman boys were passing behind the screen¬ 
ing trees by Squire Worthington’s house, just 
beyond the store corner. The tail of the 
parade was passing the corner and she leaned 
forward eagerly to see Philip, who was behind 
the last farm wagon. 

“Oh, bother,” she began, and then she 
caught her breath and stopped, with her 
heart beating in proud surprise. “ Oh, Philip,” 
she said under her breath. “Oh, Philip 
Meade, how sweet of you!” 

For, as the last farm wagon rumbled by, 
and while the groups on the grass-edged side¬ 
walks were still talking in earnest undertones 
of the wounded soldiers and their many needs, 
Philip Meade rode out into the sunshine, a 
knight in very^earnest! 

His horse was caparisoned in trailing white 
with the ruddy eight-pointed cross on its fore¬ 
head and sides, while Philip sat erect, in 
shining cap and flowing white mantle, with 
the eight-pointed, blood-red cross on his 
shoulder, and by his side a cross-hilted sword. 
On his free arm hung a pointed shield, while 



Philip Lends a Hand 


101 


with his right hand he supported the staff of a 
fluttering white banner, the golden fringes 
streaming in the air. 

“A Templar!” exclaimed Mr. Gaston, who 
was standing with the Squire and a group of 
excited ladies by the Worthington driveway. 
“A Knight Templar, upon my soul!” 

“And see what he has on his flag!” cried 
Mrs. Bean, pointing to the rippling banner 
which caught the sunshine as if to throw out 
its message to everyone who would receive it. 

Betsy stopped her horse—she positively 
could not help it—and stretching far out of 
her flowery buggy, she read the glancing 
golden letters, “In His Name.” She caught 
her breath in surprise. Laughing Philip a 
Knight of the Temple and a soldier under 
such a banner! She could scarcely believe 
it until there flashed upon her the memory 
of another Philip—a Philip sobbing in the 
woods with his heart breaking for a dying 
father. 

A rush of tears filled her eyes. She was too 
proud of him to care whether they were seen 
or not. She rode back to the starting place 
in a whirl of emotions. The merry enterprise 



102 


Betsy Hale Tries 


took on the reality which it was. The parade, 
which had begun so gaily and carelessly, grew 
suddenly into great and glorious purposes. 
Betsy had found that the hospital was a labor 
well worth the starry, brilliant standard that 
still floated out on the free air at the cross¬ 
roads. 

“It is for our country and In His Name,” 
she whispered to herself as she steered the 
old horse toward the red Castle. “I’ll never 
forget that now” 

It was such an epoch in her emotions that 
she was almost startled by Selma’s first words, 
when they met in the joyous jumble at the 
red Castle. 

“Wasn’t Jimmy cute?” Selma said warmly. 
“He put them all in such a good humor that 
they liked every scrap of it.” 

“Jimmy?” echoed Betsy with a ring of 
scorn in her clear voice. “Why, any one 
could have played a clown’s part, but I 
think nobody could have done what Philip 
did half so well. He was perfectly stunning.” 

“Oh, yes, he looked nice, didn’t he?” 
answered Selma, without much emotion. “ He 
got that flag from the church. It belongs to 



Philip Lends a Hand 


103 


the Christian Endeavor, and I think it was 
rather horrid of him to take it without asking. 
I don’t see why he wanted a peaceable flag 
like that, though, when he had a sword and 
shield like a regular soldier.” 

Betsy turned from the task of explaining 
Philip to her practical friend. This was one 
of the occasions when she found Selma 
difficult to love. “He was fine to do it,” she 
said briefly, “and I think he was right not to 
tell anyone. It would have spoiled it if he 
had told.” 

Selma made room for her in her own 
flowery buggy, “ Come along, and we’ll 
catch the people before they go home,” she 
offered. “I saw your mother going into our 
house, and Mrs. Bean went, too. We-” 

Betsy shook her head. Even the prospect 
of such triumphs did not lure her. “I’m 
going to stop with Emma Clara,” she said 
firmly. “We’re to wait for Philip and help 
take back the things he’s borrowed.” 

Selma smiled good-naturedly down at her. 
“Oh, very well,” she said mildly. “But I 
should think you’d like to hear what they 
say about it. I’ll see you tonight, anyway,” 



104 


Betsy Hale Tries 


and she drove off, while Betsy stood looking 
after her with a little stab of compunction 
pricking at her heart. 

“She’s a dear,” she told herself, as she 
turned to join Emma Clara in the vestibule of 
the red Castle where the borrowed things 
had been hastily dumped. “And I’m a criss¬ 
cross thing to be sharp with her. I’d rather 
be with Emma Clara and Philip just now, 
though. They’ll understand how thrilly it 
all is—the flag and the clapping and all. 
They’re like that themselves.” 

She went lightly up the wooden steps, and 
her face was shining as she cried, “Oh, Emma 
Clara, wasn’t it perfectly lovely? And aren’t 
you simply wild to see how they behave 
tonight? I believe they’re wakened up for 
good now, and we’ll have the hospital here 
after all.” 



CHAPTER VI 


Small Beginnings 

B ETSY came home from the public 
meeting on Monday night with her 
head in the air. 

“Wasn’t it glorious to hear our lists read 
and see how the people all sat up straight 
when their names were called out?” she said 
happily. “And I think everyone will feel 
differently about Philip, too. I heard Miss 
Wilson say she hoped she’d never go so far 
astray as she had with ‘that young monkey’s 
character.’ She knows what he’s really like 
now, and so do all the rest of them.” 

Mrs. Hale patted the hand that rested in 
her arm. “Well, the hospital has done that 
much for us, if it never does more,” she 
returned lightly. “Philip doesn’t take his 
honors gratefully, I’m afraid. He seemed 
very uneasy when Mrs. Giles was talking with 
him before the meeting opened.” 

Betsy giggled. “He told me she made him 

( 105 ) 


106 


Betsy Hale Tries 


sick/’ she confessed. “He wishes he’d never 
been a knight if he’s to be pestered about it 
the rest of his days. He hates fussing, you 
know. He’d rather do things than talk about 
them.” 

Mrs. Hale laughed and then she said earn¬ 
estly, “How fine it was of the doctor to offer 
that meadow lot, if no suitable house could 
be found. It’s the only thing he owns and 
it was so good of him to be willing to strip 
himself for the cause. I hope they find 
another place, though, for it doesn’t seem fair 
to take both his land and half of his services 
free. The others ought to do their share.” 

Betsy swung open the front gate with a 
flourish. “We’re all going to do our very 
best,’ she declared hopefully. “After all 
that was said tonight, we ought to have the 
hospital in no time.” 

Mrs. Hale smiled down into her eager 
face in the dim starlight. “Oh, my dear 
Betsy-girl,” she said, with a tender note in 
her sweet voice. “You have forgotten what 
a wide gap there is sometimes between the 
happy first thought and the hard-won finish 
of the dearest scheme. Don’t put too much 



Small Beginnings 


107 


of your heart in it just yet, for you may be 
hurt by unlooked-for delays.” 

Betsy squeezed her mother’s arm as they 
went up the path together. The tender note 
nestled in her heart, but the warning went 
quite past her. “Oh, I don’t believe there 
will be much delay,” she said confidently. 
“Squire Worthington has promised three 
hundred dollars, and Mr. Higbee one hundred, 
and Mr. Tomlinson fifty, and all the others 
together will make up a great sum. I 
shouldn’t wonder if there would be enough 
to build a whole new building, instead of 
using an old one.” 

The key was in the door and when they 
were inside and the bolt slid into place, there 
was the clock to be wound and a note left for 
Mary, the maid, who had come to them just 
a week ago from Mrs. Warren. Mac had to 
be called in and put to bed. Nothing more 
was said about the doctor’s offer, though they 
did talk a great deal about the various pro¬ 
posals that had been made by the others, as 
they went upstairs to bed. 

Betsy paused on the landing with her bed¬ 
room candle unlighted. “Wasn’t it perfectly 



108 


Betsy Hale Tries 


sweet of Emma Clara to offer to make dresses 
for children?” she said warmly. “The doctor 
thought it was quite noble of her, and he 
told her so, too. She never said a word, 
though.” 

Mrs. Hale seemed inclined to pass the 
matter of the doctor’s speech over as lightly 
as possibly. “She can certainly make pretty 
dresses, as we know, and she will have her 
hands full if she takes all the orders that she 
will get,” she returned, as she kissed Betsy 
good-night. “Now, run along to bed, my 
dear, for it’s far beyond your hours.” 

Betsy kissed her rather absently, and went 
upstairs with her head buzzing with delicious 
forecastings of the future. 

She undressed quickly, and wrapping her 
kimono about her sat by the dormer window 
to look out over the star-lit world and to 
dream and plan. The tall pines by the sum¬ 
mer house caught her dreamy gaze. They 
were beautiful in the dim light, with the 
flicker of late fireflies about their trunks and 
their open, straggling branches full of spark¬ 
ling stars. 

“They look like real Christmas trees,” 



Small Beginnings 


109 


thought Betsy with a lifting of her heart at 
the memory of that season of peace and good¬ 
will. The peaceful, happy night seemed a 
hopeful augury for the enterprise they were 
embarking on. 

She sat thinking very hard and sighing 
impatiently from time to time. At last she 
found her solution. “I know what I’ll do,” 
she said, getting up with a satisfied nod. 
“I’ll take Selma into it, because she has that 
old piano in the L, where she does her scales. 
No one would mind our using that, and it will 
be just the thing for beginners to thump on.” 

She went to bed and to sleep at once, with 
that characteristic promptness which was 
part of her. Once she had a matter settled, 
she did not brood over it. And she knew that 
this one was settled. 

She found that it was not only settled but 
enthusiastically disposed of, when she told 
Selma her plan the next morning at mail time. 
Selma saw relief for her own tortured hours of 
practicing in the prospect unfolded to her by 
Betsy. 

“We’ll have them come and see just how 
we do each exercise, and then when you are 




110 


Betsy Hale Tries 


through with the piano, one of them can take 
her turn,” Betsy told her. “I’ll come over, 
of course, because I’ll be one of the teachers.” 

“One of them!” exclaimed Selma. “You’ll 
be the only one. I couldn’t teach a single 
note I’ve ever learned, though I’ve been at it 
for a whole year. I’ll go through those horrid 
scales for them, but I won’t teach them a 
single, solitary note on my own account.” 

Betsy sighed, for she knew that tone too 
well to argue with it. “All right,” she said 
patiently. “I’ll do the teaching then, and 
you’ll lend the piano and do part of the scales. 
We ought to get plenty of scholars at our 
price. Fifteen cents a lesson is very cheap.” 

Selma agreed reluctantly. She seemed to 
regret the fact. “Perhaps people who need 
such awfully cheap lessons won’t have pianos 
to practice on,” she suggested. “What are 
you going to do about that?” 

Betsy had overlooked that important pos¬ 
sibility in her fervid planning, but she sur¬ 
mounted the difficulty in a thoughtful instant. 
“We’ll get our pupils first,” she told Selma 
crisply. “And then, if we have enough, 
we’ll ask the Ladies’ Aid if they mayn’t use 



Small Beginnings 


111 


the piano in the Church Annex. It’s for a 
good cause and their piano is fearfully old 
and out of tune, anyway. They can’t use 
it for singing any more.” 

This seemed a happy solution of Selma’s 
query, and they started on their quest for 
pupils at once. That was Betsy’s way. 

There is no need to go through all the trials 
that were theirs in the next two hours. It is 
enough to say that they emerged triumphant 
at the end of that period, with their spirits 
somewhat battered but beginning to soar. 
The petition to the Ladies’ Aid made them 
simply float. That came to anchor in the 
bare play-room in the L, where Selma’s 
worn piano kept company with other relics, 
and where they could gloat undisturbed over 
the result of their labors. 

“I’d never had the courage to talk it up 
like you did,” said Selma admiringly. “You 
made them think that music lessons were the 
most magnificent thing in the world.” 

Betsy looked thoughtful. She had for¬ 
gotten her inspired eloquence. “Well,” she 
replied slowly, “so they are, in a way. If we 
didn’t have music, it would be a queer world, 



112 


Betsy Hale Tries 


wouldn’t it? We got seven, anyway, and 
that’s the main thing. I shouldn’t have been 
able to speak to Mrs. Harris about the 
Ladies’ Aid piano like you did, though,” she 
added, recalling a past Barrel Packing for 
that organization. “It’s fine of them to be 
going to give a supper for the Hospital Fund, 
I think. They do give such good suppers.” 

“And they always make about seventy- 
five or eighty dollars,” said Selma. 

“Then there’s Mrs. Bean’s garden party— 
that will be great fun for us girls,” went on 
Betsy. “And the lovely Scotch giant told 
Philip he was going to give a show right here, 
and give all the money to the hospital.” 

Selma looked doubtful. “I’m glad he’s 
going to give shows here,” she said; “but I 
don’t see why he doesn’t go to another town 
and get their money for us. We’re giving all 
we can, or we’re going to give, I hope.” 

Betsy was lost in joyful anticipation and 
she shook off the doubt with a little laugh. 
“Oh, we’re going to have lots of fun this 
summer,” she declared. “I’ll have to write 
Helen about all she is missing. I hope she’ll 
feel sorry she isn’t at the Shrubberies now. 



Small Beginnings 


113 


instead of prancing about those summer 
resorts.’’ 

“I don’t believe she’s prancing much,” 
commented practical Selma. “She’s too 
proper to prance.” 

Betsy laughed again, with a confident 
little ring in her mirth. “Oh, don’t you be 
too sure,” she said, gaily. “Helen Bond 
changed a whole lot before she went away and 
you don’t know how lively she may come to 
be yet.” 

Selma sniffed. “ I guess she isn’t in any dan¬ 
ger of getting too lively,” she retorted. “We 
won’t have any chance to see her this year, 
though, so we won’t fuss over it. Let’s go play 
croquet now. The yard’s nice and shady.” 

Betsy was in no mood for pastimes. She 
preferred something more active than croquet. 
“Let’s go tell Mother about the lessons,” she 
proposed. “We’ve told your mother, you 
know. And we can stop in at Simpson’s on 
the way. Emma Clara hasn’t heard about 
Mr. MacTavish’s offer yet.” 

“We can see if she’s got any orders, too,” 
agreed Selma, finding pleasure in accomplish¬ 
ing two errands at once. 



114 


Betsy Hale Tries 


They found Emma Clara at home, deep in 
fashion plates and magazine patterns. Her 
pretty face was flushed and she was much 
agitated. “Eve four orders for party frocks 
from the McSwiggins down at the mill,” she 
told them with a perplexed wrinkle between 
her anxious eyes.J- “They want this cheap 
pink silk and trashy lace, and I can’t make 
them see how horrid it is. They just will 
have them. I tried to make them get pink 
organdie and wash tulle, but they simply 
turned up their noses at that.” 

Betsy laughed and then looked serious. 
“I shouldn’t make the silk dresses at all,” 
she declared. “You ought to let them under¬ 
stand that you’re a better class dressmaker 
than that. It’s coming down to their level, 
and I shouldn’t do it.” 

“But they will go to someone else and have 
their pink silks if Emma Clara doesn’t make 
them,” put in Selma, anxiously. “She can’t 
start in to teach the whole town to dress 
stylish, like she does. You do it, Emma 
Clara, and never mind Betsy. The money 
is as good for the hospital as if they’d got 
plain lawn.” 



Small Beginnings 


115 


“That’s it,” exclaimed poor Emma Clara. 
“I don’t dare turn away the money. I may 
not get many to do, you know, and I have so 
little to give otherwise. I suppose I’ll have 
to begin on them,” and she sighed deeply, 
taking up a fashion sheet that was marked 
with a smudge of pencil. “They’ve chosen 
their pattern, so that’s settled. Here goes, 
then, for the hospital.” 

She got out her scissors and the flimsy 
pink silk, and laid out pins and needles and 
thread. “You two had better go along,” she 
warned them. “I’m cross as two sticks now, 
and I won’t talk while I’m on the cutting-out. 
The McSwiggins are in a hurry, of course.” 

They were at the door when she called after 
them, with her face bent over her implements: 
“Tell your mother that Dr. Stanton had 
another donation of fifty dollars this morning, 
from a rich patient at the Titusville Hotel,” 
and then she went on industriously pinning 
the pattern on the pink silk, while the two 
girls hurried off with the joyful news. 

Betsy was uplifted. “We’ll soon have 
enough at this rate,” she declared. “That 
makes five hundred dollars, and we’ve just 
begun.” 



116 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“They can’t keep on that way, though,” 
said Selma slowly. “Father says we haven’t 
much money here in town. Wasn’t it funny 
that Emma Clara heard about the donation 
first of anybody? I wonder how she-” 

“Oh, she must have seen the doctor on the 
road, or somewhere,” broke in Betsy, who was 
not burdened by any tendency toward gossip. 
“Those McSwiggins, though, might want 
lessons. They like fancy things—they will 
have their pink silks—and so, we ought to 
educate them up to a better sort of fancy 
things, like music.” 

Selma sighed. She did not like the prospect 
of the ambitious McSwiggins, but she knew 
Betsy too well by this time to try to obstruct 
her path of duty. “We won’t go today, 
though,” she said firmly. “I’m going straight 
home as soon as I see your mother, and I’ll 
practice those first scales a bit. I’m pretty 
rusty, I guess.” 

She was as good as her word, for, after a 
brief yet delightful conference in the summer 
house, where Mrs. Hale’s praise was gratefully 
accepted, Selma took herself off, leaving 
Betsy a whole hour of unoccupied time 




Small Beginnings 


117 


before luncheon. “If mother weren’t so busy 
with those proofs,” she thought. “We could 
talk about things. If Phil hadn’t taken Mac 
off, I’d teach him a trick or something. I just 
can’t settle down to anything this morning.” 

Then she thought of all sorts of things that 
had any connection with the paramount 
interest of her present day. She wondered 
if Mr. Si Myers would be cured before the 
hospital was ready for him here, and her 
mind slipped on to Miss Willie Welch and her 
mysterious fairy palace, as Betsy called it to 
herself. “I’d love to see it again,” she 
thought. 

The more she thought of it, the stronger 
her desire grew> and so she slipped out and 
over the hill to the lonely house, which stood 
apart from the clustering village houses. 
“I’ll just go to the gate and stop for a tiny 
minute,” Betsy told herself. “I don’t want 
to go prying about while Miss Willie’s away. 
I’m sure she wouldn’t like it.” 

But when she got to the open gate, the lure 
was too strong again. She softly stepped 
inside, as though afraid of disturbing the 
noon shadows that lay sleeping on the grass. 



118 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“Fll go as far as that stone,” she said, stepping 
lightly over some straggling flowers, toward 
a big gray boulder, which caught a shaft of 
sunlight on its top. “Perhaps I can sit 
down. It will be a good high place to look 
about—oh, it’s a sun-dial! How sweet!” 

It was more beautiful than Betsy knew. 
The spot would have won the most critical, 
though the village taste found nothing desira¬ 
ble there. The rough gray boulder-dial with 
its circling flower border was backgrounded 
against the dense green of yew and arbor-vitse 
on its northern side, while the tall, straight 
poplars and sweeping elms about it were care¬ 
fully clipped away in places to keep the dial 
top always in a shaft of sunshine. Flowers 
rioted among the grass. Tall ferns grew in 
corners. Vines trailed everywhere. Every¬ 
where there was a sense of hidden beauties, 
of undiscovered charms, that enraptured Betsy 
as she gazed. 

“Oh, how lovely it is!” she said aloud. 
“It’s so—so wild and so lovely! I wish I 
could see it all.” 

“And why not, young Miss?” asked a crisp 
voice that seemed familiar. “Why not look 
as much as you please?” 



CHAPTER VII 


Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 

B ETSY faced about with a great start. 

“Oh, Miss Willie!” she cried in con¬ 
fusion, “I didn’t know you were here. 
I thought-” 

She stopped, for it seemed worse to say 
that she had come spying about in Miss 
Willie’s absence than to have come for a call 
by herself. “I hope you don’t mind,” she 
ended lamely. “It’s so very beautiful, and 
I was only coming as far as the gate, but it 
looked so mysterious and sort of haunting, I 
just couldn’t stop. So I came in.” 

Miss Willie was looking at her with a strange 
expression. “You love it?” she asked with 
an intensity that Betsy found disconcerting. 

“Yes, I love it,” she replied mechanically. 
She was thinking that Miss Willie looked very 
pale and thin, now that she saw her quite 
close. “I’ve never seen any place just like 
it, you see.” 


( 119 ) 


120 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Miss Willie looked about with a sigh. 
“No, there is no place just like it, I think,” 
she admitted. “But do you not find it over¬ 
grown and weedy?” 

Betsy, looking about her again, became 
enthusiastic. She forgot Miss Willie’s queer¬ 
ness and pale looks. “Oh, no indeed,” she 
answered warmly. “It’s perfectly lovely. 
It’s not a bit too flower-y and vine-y. I love 
it that way.” 

Miss Willie nodded thoughtfully. “You 
echo my sentiments,” she said in the same 
earnest tone. “Selma, however, thought 
differently, did she not?” 

Betsy started. “Oh, you were here then?” 
she murmured trying to recall what had been 
said on Saturday afternoon, but failing. 
“We thought you had gone away. We 
didn’t know-” 

Miss Willie saw her embarrassment. “Never 
mind, young Miss,” she said, with her odd, 
bright manner coming upon her again. “ You, 
at least, need feel no concern. Your words 
were very flattering to my poor abode—very 
flattering indeed. I liked the idea of the 
Nickleman in my well, all frog-like and 



Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 121 


croaking and dripping water. Yes, on the 
whole, I preferred your speech to that of the 
village child.” 

She stopped for so long that Betsy had 
begun to frame a farewell speech, but she did 
not get through with it, for in the midst of it, 
Miss Willie turned, and beckoning her to 
follow, she walked swiftly to the house, 
where she flung open the wide, low door. 

“Enter,” she said graciously. “I welcome 
you to my home.” 

Betsy was recovering herself, and she liked 
the quaint courtesy of Miss Willie’s speech. 
It was like the old romances come to life. 
She walked into the dim hallway with a 
pleasant sense of entering into a land of 
fairy, for the same unusual taste that draped 
the garden with vines and wild flowers had 
spent itself here in lace-like draperies and 
silky curtainings. 

The hall was wide and low, and opened by 
a wide archway into a dim, spacious room, 
where the sunshine barely struggled through 
the sumptuously veiled windows. Luxurious 
chairs and inviting couches, with a desk or 
two of inlaid wood, made most of the furnish- 



122 


Betsy Hale Tries 


ing, though in the hall an elaborately carved 
spinet stood in the corner by the winding 
stair. Everything was thick with silken 
covers or hung with silken drapery. The 
windows had three lacy layers of screening 
curtains, while the walls were almost covered 
by tapestries and delicate, old-fashioned water 
colors. 

“Oh,” said Betsy, entirely unprepared Jor 
such sumptuousness. “How—how sweet!" 

‘You love it?” demanded Miss Willie 
again, but this time she smiled and her bright 
eyes softened. 

Betsy was drinking the wealth of color and 
texture with an eager eye. “It’s exactly 
like the sun-dial place outside,” she said, 
thinking aloud. “All green and filmy, with 
little bits of blue and pink and yellow, like 
the flowers in the sun.” 

Miss Willie smiled. With her brown, 
delicate hand she patted Betsy’s shoulder 
daintily. “You will now please to count 
yourself one of my best friends,” she said 
brightly. “We have tastes in common, I see. 
No villager would have said that. Now, let 
us begin our friendship,” and she waved 



Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 123 


Betsy to a small chair by a little couch, where 
she herself sank down as though exhausted. 

Betsy’s eyes were very busy with the luxu¬ 
rious room, and she was wondering why Selma 
should have told her that Miss Willie was 
rather poor. No one save a very rich person, 
she thought, could have such a room. Almost 
as though answering her thought, Miss Willie 
spoke. 

“I keep this to myself,” she said with a 
glance about her that lingered lovingly on 
each nook and corner. “I do not show it to 
any who do not like my garden. No one here 
does like my garden, and so they see only 
the outer courtyard of my domain. That 
is where I expected to receive you and Selma 
when you came. But I was feeling very— 
well, to confess it, very ill and weak on 
Saturday when I heard your voices, and I 
could not bear the idea of chatting with young 
misses. I was too weak, to tell the truth. 
I gained a truer knowledge, however, than 
I ever could by a whole afternoon’s talk with 
you both. Selma’s neat soul revolts from my 
untidy garden, while you—you gave me a 
Nickleman for my well. I thank you.” 



124 


Betsy Hale Tries 


She bowed so gravely that Betsy felt she 
must rise and curtsy, and she would have 
made up a defense for Selma had Miss 
Willie permitted, but there her hostess was 
peremptory. “ Say no word of excuse, please,” 
she said decisively. “It is undignified to try 
to excuse our friends. Selma has excellent 
traits that you, no doubt, lack. We will not 
discuss it. Shall you care to see my library 
some day? I am too much fatigued to show 
you my treasures now, but another day.” 

She rose, evidently suddenly oppressed by 
sudden pain, and Betsy’s sympathetic heart 
went out to her in her loneliness. “Oh 
w^on’t you let me stay and rub your head or 
get you something cool?” she asked with 
concern in her voice. “You look quite ill. 
Indeed you do.” 

Miss Willie waved her offers away with a 
trembling hand, though her manner was very 
kind. “I shall win through to my rest 
shortly,” she said, rather unintelligibly to 
Betsy, who did not know whether she meant 
she was going to take a nap as soon as Betsy 
left, or whether she expected to die soon. It 
was most uncomfortable. 



Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 125 


“Please let me do something,” Betsy 
pleaded, hesitating on the threshold of the 
room. “I’d love to, really I should. Isn’t 
there anything I can do?” 

Miss Willie was recovering and the pallor 
was gone from her face. She bowed again 
very formally. “I am restored,” she said 
with a smile. “I shall remember your offer¬ 
ings of aid and may call upon you some day. 
Now I must show you the outer courtyard 
where I receive Selmas and their kind.” 

She led the way across the hall to the room 
beyond into which the side door from the 
garden opened. It had ingrain rugs and cheap 
mission furniture in it, and its windows were 
curtained with Nottingham lace. A greater 
contrast could hardly have been accom¬ 
plished under the same roof. She looked at 
Betsy with the mocking light of triumph in 
her brown eyes. 

“I give each according to his deserts, you 
see,” she smiled. “I keep the door to my 
own room locked and the woman who does 
my cleaning, when I am here, thinks they are 
store-rooms. But,” and her face clouded, 
“they are a hard task to take care of some- 



126 


Betsy Hale Tries 


times. Perhaps one may pay too heavily for 
a sense of humor.” 

Betsy did not quite understand her now, 
and besides she heard the clock striking one 
from the church on the back road. “Oh, 
it’s quite past luncheon time,” she exclaimed. 
“I shall have to say good-bye, and thank you 
for letting me in—really in, and not just in 
the outer courtyard,” and she smiled up in 
Miss Willie’s face as she dropped another 
curtsy. She felt that she was indeed to be 
one of Miss Willie’s friends, since she had seen 
that bare reception room across the hall. 

Miss Willie shook hands with her at part¬ 
ing, but she did not go out with her. “I am 
not desirous of any of my outer-court guests 
today,” she said. “So I shall not let the 
villagers see me yet.” 

Betsy had a flash of understanding. “I 
shall tell no one—except of course Mother, 
who never tells,” she promised eagerly. “I’ll 
say nothing to Selma about it.” 

She thought that Miss Willie seemed 
pleased, and she ran off over the hill again 
with a happy sense of something important 
having happened. “I’ll go there again as 




Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 127 


soon as I think she’d like to see people,” she 
said to herself as she reached the flag-path 
gate. Then she suddenly paused with her 
hand on the latch. “X never said one word 
to her about the hospital,” she thought with 
swift regret. “She hasn’t heard a word of it 
if she’s been there by herself since Friday. 
Oh, dear, how stupid of me! I’ll have to 
make up for it, though. I’ll go over late this 
afternoon with some wild flowers, and then 
I’ll tell her about it.” 

She was so absorbed in her planning that 
she was rather later than ever and when she 
came to the table, her mother was almost 
finished. She was going out, she told Betsy, 
to a woman’s meeting in the next little town. 
Mrs. Townsend had telephoned over to tell 
her that she would bring the car for her at 
two precisely, and, as Mrs. Hale had to dress, 
there was no chance for private talk about 
fairy palaces, or Nicklemen, or such like. 

Betsy ate her lunch, waving a farewell to 
her mother with her napkin as she finished the 
last morsel. “I’ll tell her about it when she 
comes back,” she thought as she went indoors. 
“She’ll be back before very late.” 



128 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Things seldom turn out just as we plan 
them, however, and before Mrs. Hale re¬ 
turned, so many things had happened that 
Betsy’s story was quite different from the 
one she had started with. It had two impor¬ 
tant additions. 

Philip contributed the first. 

He came rushing in, Mac barking at his 
heels, as she was settling down to finish 
hemming some towels for the Sewing Class. 
“What do you think?” he called breathlessly. 
“The Giant’s going to give two shows for us 
tomorrow afternoon and night too. Isn’t 
that great?” 

Betsy was delighted at the swiftness with 
which things were moving, but she had such 
a mine of secret mystery in her own breast 
that she could not be entirely her own direct, 
eager self. “How nice,’’ she said as heartily 
as she could. Scotch giants were all very 
well in their way, but everyone could see 
Mr. MacTavers, while only a few could enter 
fairyland at pleasure. 

Philip looked at her critically. “You said 
that just like Selma,” he commented suspi¬ 
ciously. “What’s up? Don’t you care for 



Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 129 


giants any more? You were daffy over seeing 
him yesterday.” 

Betsy tried to defend herself, but he 
ignored her in his budget of news “The 
Snake Charmer is well and is going to give 
a show, too,” he told her. “I tell you, Doc 
Stanton is curing them up right lively. Mrs. 
Delaney says they’re crazy over him down 
there. They’re going to move on next 
Friday, and the elephant man is to stay with 
Mrs. Delaney till he’s quite well. He’s the only 
one who was badly crumpled up, you know.” 

Betsy was interested now. “Who is going 
to take care of his elephant?” she asked. 
“I should think they’d have a hard time to 
get an elephant driver. Most elephants are 
in the Zoo-” 

“Oh, they’ll manage, I guess,” Philip 
replied easily. It was plain his mind was not 
on the needs of the elephants. “And who do 
you suppose is going to chip in for the hospital 
fund? You’ll never guess, though.” 

“Then tell me,” commanded Betsy, eagerly. 
The mention of the hospital set her eyes 
shining. She leaned forward, hanging on hia 
words. 




130 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“Miss Willie Welch has promised us that 
old house of hers on the Town Road,” said 
he, gleeful at the expression on Betsy’s vivid 
face. “It’s a good big one, and can be fixed 
up fine, Doc says. How’s that for a starter?” 

Betsy could find no words. “I didn’t 
know—How in the world—” she began. 

Philip enjoyed her amazement. “Selma 
said she wasn’t home, but I saw that the 
roses on that big bush by the well had all 
been picked yesterday when I went by,” he 
went on triumphantly. “So I just mosied in 
and found her out there by the sun-dial, 
behind the yew trees. She wasn’t any too 
delighted at first, for she didn’t want people 
to know she was home—‘didn’t want to be 
annoyed,’ she said. She-” 

Betsy could not restrain herself. “I didn’t 
know you ever went there,” she cried reproach¬ 
fully. “You never told me.” 

Philip grinned. “Isn’t my fault,” he 
parried. “It’s Miss Willie’s little way. If 
you went there, she’d expect you to keep 
mum, too. She’s a stickler for privacy, you 
see. But she’s a trump all the same.” 

Betsy had no answer to this. Her own 




Miss Willie’s Inner Courtyard 131 


visit to the inner sanctuary was too recent to 
leave her room for argument. She wondered 
how many times Philip had been there and 
which side of the house had been his lot. 

“She’s given it slap off,” he boasted. “And 
on the day the hospital is opened, she’ll take 
the very best room they have and pay for it 
right along till she’s cured. That’s going 
some, isn’t it!” 

Betsy tried to stop him as he was moving 
off. She wanted to ask many questions, but 
she could not keep him. “I’ve got to get 
those cussed logarithms off the hooks,” he 
told her. “There’s a ball game in the big 
field at three o’clock, so I can’t blather any 
longer. See you tomorrow for sure. Be 
ready on the jump at two-thirty.” 

Betsy looked after him with a tinge of 
regret. Somehow she felt that she was 
taking a far back seat with Philip since the 
hospital scheme had become popular. “He 
doesn’t care a snap,” she thought. “He goes 
and does things by himself all the time now. 
I suppose boys are like that.” 

She frowned at her hemming, and she 
sighed as she thought of the changes in Emma 



132 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Clara, too, who was now so absorbed in the 
McSwiggin’s party dresses that she had no 
time for other things. 

“Emma Clara is very grown-up, after all,” 
she thought reluctantly. “Selma was pretty 
nearly right, I’m afraid. There isn’t anyone 
who is very diverting this afternoon. I’d 
like to go see Mrs. Delaney, but that’s not 
allowed. I believe I’ll go write that letter to 
Helen, and I’ll make it a good long one, too.” 

She sat down to her task in just the right 
mood, for she was hungry for a patient 
audience, and as Helen was always eager for 
letters from Betsy, it was a double incentive 
to her. She wrote steadily for nearly an 
hour, and then she laid down her pen with a 
pleased smile. “She’ll like that,” she said, 
glancing at the closely written sheets. “I’ve 
told her every single thing we’ve done and 
said for a week. I didn’t dream I had so 
much to say.” 

She was sticking the stamp on the envelope 
when Selma came in. She, too, had news to 
tell. Everyone seemed to be full of news. 
Selma’s news was of a sort that could be told 
openly. 



CHAPTER VIII 


Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 




T HERE’S a good seat,” said Philip* 
“You can slip in there, and I’ll 
camp out with the fellows at the 


back.” 

Betsy shook her head very decidedly. 
She had not come to the Scotch giant’s show 
to sit by herself. She had expected to par¬ 
ticularly enjoy the Scotch flavor of Mr. 
MacTavers’ performance with Philip, whose 
likings for the canny race were as strong as 
her own. She had been rather glad that 
Selma was to go at night with her mother’s 
small party. Selma did not care very much 
for the Scotch dialect that was so dear to the 
two admirers of “St. Valentine’s Day.” 

“I don’t want to sit by myself,” she pro¬ 
tested in an undertone. “I’d rather be 
farther back, so we can be together.” 

Philip was entirely masculine and he ap¬ 
peared flattered. “All right,” he replied, 
( 133 ) 


134 


Betsy Hale Tries 


leading the way to a couple of chairs some 
rows behind. “The place is small enough 
to hear everything, anyway. Jiminy, there’s 
the curtain going up already!” 

They had barely time to squeeze in before 
a very stout lady and a portly companion 
when the curtain ran up in a slow and jerky 
manner, while an approving murmur ran 
about the small tent. 

“There he is!” whispered Philip proudly. 
“Isn’t he the Scotchest thing you ever saw?” 

Mr. MacTavers was standing with his arms 
folded, looking out over his audience with the 
imperturbable calm of a true Highlander. 
His ruddy hair was topped by a Highland 
bonnet and his brawny legs showed brown 
and muscular between the hem of his kilts and 
the top of his low stockings. He was very 
tall indeed—so tall that Betsy found him 
oppressive. “I think he’s too big,” she 
whispered uneasily to Philip, who paid no 
attention to her. “I wish he wouldn’t look 
right at me,” she thought, staring back at the 
imposing MacTavers. “Giant’s are too big 
to stare like that.” 

She was doing the huge Scot an injustice, 



Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 135 


for he was not really looking at her at all. 
The fact was that he was so thoroughly cross¬ 
eyed that he seemed to be staring at each 
individual in the tent, and Betsy was only 
sharing the feelings of many others when she 
squirmed under that portentous gaze. Mr. 
MacTavers was highly valued by the manage¬ 
ment for this very point, since he was the 
only cross-eyed giant on the whole circuit. 

“And noo,” he spoke suddenly in a great 
husky voice that seemed compounded of the 
roar of the Highland cataracts and the shift¬ 
ing mists of the Highland fells. “And noo, 
ladies and gentlemens, I’ll gie ye a wee taste 
of the Hielan’ fling. No’ that it’s may ain 
choice to begin with, but the music-box is 
wanted by the management for the show in 
the next toon the night, and they’ll be aff in 
half an hoor.” 

A small rustle of applause greeted this first 
speech, and then, as Mr. MacTavers gravely 
started the small phonograph preparatory to 
his dance, a silence fell upon the place that 
was almost solemn. Betsy thought she had 
never seen a more businesslike performance 
than that Highland fling as rendered by the 



136 


Betsy Hale Tries 


enormous Scot on the limited platform of the 
little tent. “I hope it isn’t all going to be so 
sober and serious,” she thought, in keen dis¬ 
appointment. “It’s almost like going to 
church.” 

She did not voice her sentiments to Philip, 
for she felt sure he would be too loyal to his 
Scotch friend to be patient with her. So she 
sat and waited while the phonograph piped on 
and the great solemn-faced Highlander did 
his duty by the dance. He seemed as much 
relieved as she when the last note died away 
and the rather lukewarm clapping began. 

“Noo it’s the sword dance,” he told them, 
with more relish. “And it ought to be done 
by the pipes, but I canna pipe and dance 
baith mysel’, so we’ll ha’ it with the music- 
box.” 

Betsy liked the sword dance infinitely 
better, for there was a fire in the misleading 
little gray eyes of the MacTavers as he 
crossed and re-crossed the little stage, and a 
decision to the swing of his weapon that was 
inspiring. When he ended and stood calmly 
enduring the applause that had warmed to 
his livelier performance, she clapped very 
hard indeed. 



Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 137 


“I think he’s going to be splendid,” she 
said, while the phonograph was being removed, 
“he’s so much more cheerful now.” 

Philip gave her a withering look. He was 
glowing with excited admiration and could 
brook no criticism of his giant. “ ‘Going to 
be?’” he echoed disdainfully. “Why, he’s 
simply great. You didn’t expect him to grin 
and joke, did you? Why, he’s a Scotchman /” 

Betsy was properly rebuked, and she sat 
rather silently while the fat lady was ushered 
in, together with the scales which were to 
prove her title, and her part of the entertain¬ 
ment began. Madame Titanica, as she was 
oddly called, was a great contrast to her 
talented husband, for she was as smiling and 
dimpled as he was raw-boned and serious. 
She had a small part, but she did it with 
great good nature. 

First of all, she was weighed. She waddled 
to the scales and stepped laboriously on, 
whereupon the giant’s husky tones announced 
triumphantly the interesting fact, “Fower 
hunner pun, as ye may see for yoursel’ if 
ye’ll step up.” No one did step up, however, 
and the fat lady got off the scales very care¬ 
fully, and prepared for her second act. 



138 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“The Lay of the Lady Grissel,” announced 
the giant, taking a tiny pipe from his sporran 
and fitting it together with great care. “ Com¬ 
posed by Madame Titanica her ain sel’ and 
the music writ for it by a noted musician.” 

Instead of looking at Madame Titanica 
who had waddled to a position at the front, 
everybody was intent on MacTavers, as he 
fitted the little pipe together. It seemed a 
miracle that his eyes would serve him for such 
small purposes. But they didv He adjusted 
the pipe, blew a note or two, and then nodded 
gravely to the singer. “Noo for it,” he 
whispered in a booming breath that could be 
heard on the back benches. “Gie it to ’em 
strong, my lass.” 

Madame Titanica, thus advised, sang a 
very long song in a very small voice. It was 
all about roaming lightly in her native 
valleys and sporting with the birds and butter¬ 
flies there. Betsy wondered how she could 
think of such activities, with all her bulk. 
Then she bowed and sat down, smiling very 
much at the liberal applause they gave her. 
Fat ladies who sang were novelties in side¬ 
shows, as Madame Titanica knew very well. 



Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 139 


After that MacTavers came out in his 
strength. 

He lifted incredibly heavy bars and balls. 
He measured himself by the tentpole, showing 
the amazing height of eight feet six without 
his enormous shoes. He dropped a half- 
dollar through his ring, to show the size of his 
little finger, and altogether, he exhibited a 
degree of activity that was surprising in one 
of his great size. The audience grew more 
and more demonstrative, while Philip swelled 
with pride. 

“ There’s nothing like a real Highland-man,” 
he said to Betsy, as the solemn MacTavers 
brought out the bagpipes and began tuning 
and inflating them. “ There isn’t another 
giant that can do anything but loaf about 
and talk. He’s the best ever. He’s going 
with a big show next year.” 

The skirl of the pipes broke in on the praise 
of his favorite, and even Philip could not 
withstand the onslaught of those piercing, 
shrieking pipes. The tent was filled with their 
clamor, and uneasy movements ran about the 
audience whose ear-drums were assailed un¬ 
mercifully by the wild strains that sounded 



140 


Betsy Hale Tries 


so penetrating in that small enclosure. Out 
on the free hills MacTavers might have held 
his hearers, but indoors he struck them deaf 
with the clamor. 

“Oh, oh!” breathed Betsy, stuffing her 
fingers into her ears. She was shocked at the 
moanings and groanings that came from the 
much-lauded bagpipes. She had read about 
them, and loved them so in print, that she 
felt she could not endure both her own dis¬ 
appointment and the howlings of the piercing 
music. 

“Do let’s go out,” she whispered to Philip 
imploringly under cover of the noise. 
“They’re so terribly loud!” 

He cast one withering glance at her and 
took up his hat. “I thought you liked them,” 
he retorted fiercely. “You’re always going 
over those parts about the strains of the 
pipes echoing among the hills and that sort 
of thing. I didn’t know you were such a 
Sassenach as all that.” 

Betsy had risen slightly, but now she 
dropped back into her chair. Philip was 
dearer to her than her own ear-drums, and 
she could not bear his contempt. “So I did 



Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 141 


like them in the books/’ she confessed, with 
a lift of her brown head, “but I didn’t know 
they howled like that. The tent’s too small, 
anyway. Maybe I’d like them perfectly 
well if I’d heard them out of doors, like they 
belong. I’ll stop here for a while and see— 
oh, there, he’s stopping, and the people are all 
getting up. What’s happening now?” 

Philip snorted. “You seem to be pretty 
silly today,” he told her with engaging frank¬ 
ness. “Nothing’s happening. The show’s 
over. Come along if you want to meet Mr. 
MacTavers. Push right after me and don’t 
get lost.” 

Betsy resented his suggestion of her inabil¬ 
ity to take care of herself. “I’m not a baby, 
even if I don’t just adore bagpipes in my very 
ear,” she thought resentfully, as she followed 
him through the crowded aisle to the platform 
where the giant was standing, solemn and 
detached, answering the questions put to 
him by the more venturesome of his audience. 

“Na, na. It’s nae for the sake of the 
hospital-place by itsel’,” he was saying as 
they wedged their way nearer. “ ’Tis a gude 
wark, but nane of my ain affair—for I’ve na 



142 


Betsy Hale Tries 


been a sufferer wi’ tha ithers. ’Tis for the 
honor of Caithness, ye ken, that I gie the 
siller. I winna hae them clown-bodies mis-ca’ 
Caithness, a-sayin’ that Caithness canna tak 
her part in anny gude wark along o’scum fra 
Ireland or hay then lands abune.” 

The man he was speaking to laughed. 
“Well, that’s all right, too,” he said easily, 
as he turned away. “Stick up for your own 
bit of country, I say, and you can’t go far 
wrong. We’re much obliged to Caithness, if 
you put it that way.” 

The giant welcomed them with deep gravity, 
and the short ordeal of shaking hands with 
the towering figure and murmuring some 
complimentary words up to his looming ear 
was soon over. Betsy followed Philip out 
into the sunshine again with a sense of having 
a wider experience in men and things. Mr. 
MacTavers’ husky voice rang in her ears above 
the echoes of the bagpipes. “ ’Tis for the 
honor of Caithness,” she heard him saying, 
and she nodded emphatic approval. 

“I like your giant tremendously, Phil,” 
she told him, when there was a chance to 
speak. “He was so cross-eyed at first that 



Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 143 


I didn’t quite like to look at him, and the 
bagpipes were too screechy when he started; 
but I like him now. He’s willing to do things 
for the honor of his country, and I just love 
that in anyone.” 

Philip appeared somewhat softened. He, 
too, had been disappointed in the pipes and 
deeply cut by Betsy’s aversion to them, but 
her praise of the great MacTavers soothed his 
hurt. “He’s all right,” he returned, looking 
at her more kindly. “I thought you’d get 
over being so silly. You ought to see him 
around camp—he’s great, I tell you. He’s 
so strong that he can help a lot, and he isn’t 
afraid of himself like most side-shows are. 
He’s great on duty, you know. That’s the 
Scotch of him, I guess.” 

Betsy nodded. She was beginning to feel 
a deep interest in MacTavers, now that his 
disconcerting eyes were not upon her. The 
speech about ^Caithness had shown her the 
kindred spirit in the widely differing natures. 
“Miss Willie gave the house because she 
loved this place,” she broke out, thinking 
aloud. “And Squire Worthington and all the 
others gave their money, too. Mr. MacTavers 



144 


Betsy Hale Tries 


didn’t seem as though he like^d to give away 
the silver, but he did it for Caithness. Loving 
your country makes you do kind and generous 
things, doesn’t it, Phil?” 

“Sure,” responded Philip, heartily. He 
looked at her now with all the old friendly 
light in his eyes, and a new gleam of admira¬ 
tion mingled with the old. 

“You’ve got it this time. That’s why this 
hospital is going to be put through in spite 
of all the stingy old codgers. They’re not 
going to let Highville get ahead of us. That’s 
what is going to fetch it.” 

Betsy felt that this was not the highest 
form of patriotism, though she had not 
words to express her meaning. They were 
on the crest of the Town Road now, looking 
down toward the Cross-roads and she knew 
that the flag was there which spoke of better 
things, of generosity without petty rivalry, 
of self-denial without protest, of eager, whole- 
souled offerings that had no taint of self- 
seeking. All this she felt but could not 
voice. And, in spite of Philip’s words, she 
knew that he felt so too. That was why she 
could speak as she had spoken just a moment 
ago. 



Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 145 


They had walked very slowly and by the 
longer way about in order to catch a glimpse 
of the portion of the circus which was going 
over to Plumstead for the evening’s per¬ 
formance. They caught a limited view of the 
train of wagons, and Philip, who was familiar 
with them all, pointed out the snake-charmer’s 
willowy figure on the top of the second wagon. 
“She made a big splurge about giving her 
show with MacTavers, but she pretended 
she had to go with the troupe tonight,” he 
said disdainfully. “She’s a regular slacker— 
that’s what she is.” 

Betsy had more leniency for the disappoint¬ 
ing artist. “Perhaps she did have to go,” 
she argued. “The manager may have made 
her.” 

“The manager is a dub,” declared Philip 
gloomily. “He talks a lot about eternal 
gratitude, but he’s not offered to give a 
benefit here, like he ought. The giant is the 
only one of the whole lot who has done 
anything.” 

“That’s because he’s Scotch, and Scotch 
people are religious and do their duty,” 
explained Betsy, who had a clearer view of 

10 



146 


Betsy Hale Tries 


the national character of the clans as shown 
by books than in actual life. 

They went on talking earnestly, as was 
their wont. They were given to much dis¬ 
cussion when they were together and they 
talked matters over more thoroughly with 
one another than with any others. They 
had much to speak of now, and while the 
rest of the village was scurrying home toward 
their early suppers, they loitered along the 
pleasant Town Road, which was also the 
main road, talking of Mss Willie’s gift— 
though they never mentioned their separate 
visits to her home—and of the probable 
amount of Mr. MacTavers’ donation. 

“He’s going to let me take it to the Squire,” 
Philip told her proudly. “He says he 
C canna be fashed wi’ sic-like triflin’ matters.’ ” 

Betsy’s eyes were on the peaceful scene 
before her. A dozing horse at the hitching- 
post by Higbee’s store and an old man with 
a cane tapping the sidewalk by Worthington’s 
white house were all the signs of life about 
the place. The sun filtered down through 
the dense old trees, making little pools of 
light upon the dusty highway. All was 
tranquil and serene. 



Mr. MacTavers Gives a Show 147 


“I’d love—■” she began, but she never had 
time to say what it was she would love, for 
around the corner, past the dozing horse 
came a couple of white-faced boys, screaming. 

In a second the tranquillity was gone. The 
horse woke and bolted, the old man hobbled 
swiftly behind the nearest big tree, while 
the boys fled screaming up the road, too 
frightened to take shelter for themselves. 

Betsy and Philip were at the old ruined 
shop by this time and they stood paralyzed 
at the suddenness of it all. Staring down 
toward the corner to see what it was the 
terrified boys and horse were fleeing from, 
they caught a vision of a great, heaving, 
gray body and a shaggy brown object in front 
of it. Then the screams of the frightened 
boys grew suddenly clear in their ears. 

“The circus is broke loose!” they screamed. 
“The elephant’s coming!” 



CHAPTER IX 


Betsy Puts Herself in Her Place 

** Z^LIMB up here/' cried Philip, push- 
i . ing Betsy up the crumbling stair 
which led to the fragment of an 
upper story. “Quick, quick!" 

Betsy obeyed with soldier-like promptness. 
The stair was weak and rotten, but she was 
light and fleet, and she gained the upper 
landing in a flash. 

“You, too,” she breathed, stretching out 
her hand, but he did not follow. 

“Wait,” he shot out, and then he turned 
to face the peril that was coming so swiftly. 

Betsy caught her lower lip between her 
teeth and did not cry out, as the great dun- 
colored mass heaved nearer. Steadying her¬ 
self by the frail fragment of rotting railing, 
she saw beneath her in the roadway a sight 
that chilled her to the core. The big brown 
bear, with all his tiredness gone, was loping 
along through the flicker of sunshine, with the 
( 148 ) 


Betsy Puts Herself in Her Place 149 


terrier yapping cheerfully by his side, while 
behind loomed the great form of the elephant 
with trunk raised high and great ears flapping! 

“ Oh, Philip, come! ” she cried, in a panic for 
him down there at the foot of the stair. 
“Do-” 

He did not even look back at her. He made 
a gesture with his hand, silencing her im¬ 
patiently, and then, as the big bear loped 
toward the cool shelter of the dense trees of 
the ruin, he took a step forward, as though to 
halt the creature’s progress. “Get out of 
here!” he cried sternly, though his face was 
very white. “Go on! Shoo!” 

Betsy would have laughed if she had not 
been so frightened, for, at Philip’s shout of 
command, the big, shaggy creature turned, 
halted, dropped to a sitting posture and 
waved its huge paws in the mildest manner 
in the world. The terrier sat down, too, 
panting, with red tongue quivering joyously. 
It looked quite as though they welcomed the 
interruption of their escapade. 

The elephant, too, had paused for a moment. 
Betsy could just see the waving tip of the 
sinuous gray trunk as it swayed uncertainly 
to and fro beyond the sheltering branches. 



150 


Betsy Hale Tries 


It was a strange moment. 

Betsy, staring down through the leafy 
branches, saw the bear, the terrier and 
Philip in one little motionless group, while 
just behind them, out in the sunny roadway, 
was the great heaving body of the elephant, 
like a ship riding at anchor. 

Suddenly the anchor snapped and the 
scene changed. 

“Go on!” cried Philip, waving command- 
ingly to the bear. “Go on, I say!” 

Whether it was the sound of his voice, or 
the snapping of a twig as he stamped his foot, 
or whether the elephant’s moment of inde¬ 
cision was over, Betsy had no means of 
knowing, but whatever it was with a sudden 
movement, the elephant swung his trunk 
high again, and swung heavily forward. 

Like a flash the bear was on its feet and, 
turning to the road once more, it loped 
swiftly onward, with its attendant terrier 
yapping by its side. 

“Oh!” breathed Betsy in relief, and then 
she said “Oh!” again in a very different tone, 
for the elephant, instead of pursuing the two 
charges he had been herding along the high- 



Betsy Puts Herself in Her Place 151 


way, turned to the tree-bowered ruin, and 
made straight for Philip. 

It all happened so swiftly that she hardly 
saw how it was done. She caught the flash 
of the gray trunk, the sound of the heavy 
trampling of soft feet beneath her shelter. 
She saw Philip suddenly swung up in the air, 
and she screamed out in terror at that sight. 
Forgetting her own fears, she fled down the 
stair. If she could not save Philip, she 
would at least be near him at the end. 

But her feet had barely touched the stair 
when she saw again the sweep of that strong 
gray trunk once again in the air above her 
head. Philip was held firmly about the waist, 
and as the great trunk swept him upward this 
time, it heaved him backward and seated 
him gently and firmly on the great wide neck 
of the monster. 

“Oh!” gasped Betsy for the third time, 
and she sank into a crumpled heap on the 
grass at the foot of the stair. 

The relief of seeing Philip alive and com¬ 
paratively safe, instead of finding him lifeless 
and mangled by that ferocious beast, was too 
much for her, and for the first time in her 
life she fainted quite away. 



152 


Betsy Hale Tries 


What happened while she was in the swoon; 
how the elephant carried Philip off safely 
back to the encampment in the meadow, all 
the while carefully herding the truant bear; 
how Jimmy Delaney met them there at the 
entrance and took them inside, telling Philip 
the needful words of command to make his 
strange charger kneel and allow him to dis¬ 
mount; how the whole thing had come about 
through the absence of the troupe in Plum- 
stead and the consequent scarcity of hands, 
which left the bear supperless and restless, 
and which ended in a broken chain for 
bruin and snapped picket-ropes for the care¬ 
ful elephant, who had merely broken away to 
herd the runaway bear back to its station— 
all this was told her by Philip himself as soon 
as she was able to hear it. 

Emma Clara told her the other part— 
about her own part, in the next half hour. 
Emma Clara had been alarmed by seeing the 
elephant and bear pass the Simpson place and 
had followed hard in their wake, hoping to 
reach Higbee’s telephone in order to warn 
the rest of the village before the intruders had 
reached the Town Road. She had been too 



Betsy Puts Herself in Her Place 153 


late, of course, for the screaming boys had 
already spread the alarm all along their way, 
and since everyone was rushing to their front 
windows to see what the commotion meant, 
no one would answer the operator’s call. 

“And so I came out to see what was going 
on,” Emma Clara said, as she was helping 
Betsy to make herself comfortable in the long 
chair by the summer house. “Dear me, but 
I was frightened! It looked as though the 
elephant had killed you—you lay there so 
white and still. It was a mercy that Dr. 
Stanton was in town and came right away. 
We were all so frightened we did not know 
what to do for you. I think those strange 
animals upset our common sense.” 

Betsy nestled down cosily. She was not 
at all concerned about herself, in spite of the 
excitement she had caused. She was only 
stopping there in the long chair because 
Dr. Stanton, after he had brought her home, 
had recommended a quiet hour, and she 
wanted her mother, when she came home 
from the city, to find her quite as usual. 
“It’s funny enough now,” she said, recalling 
the exciting scene, “but it was terribly scary 



154 


Betsy Hale Tries 


when it was happening. I never dreamed I 
should faint, though. I guess Philip wasn’t 
so wrong about my being a baby, after all.” 

Emma Clara laughed, too, though she 
defended her friend stoutly. “You weren’t 
a baby at all,” she declared warmly. “Any¬ 
one would have been frightened by a big 
bear and an elephant, and perhaps a whole 
menagerie to come after. You dashed down 
stairs to help Philip, and that was quite 
brave enough, I think.” 

Betsy was thinking now of the heroic 
figure she might have cut. “I wish I’d kept 
my wits about me,” she said rather impa¬ 
tiently. “I might have known that bear was 
tame, and anyone with half an eye could 
have seen that the elephant was simply taking 
the bear along home out of harm’s way. I 
ought to have been alongside of Philip, and 
the two of us could have-■” 

Emma Clara interrupted good naturedly. 
“It was better the way it happened,” she 
said, taking up her book. “The elephant 
took the bear home safely and Philip had a 
ride. It was quite brave enough of you to 
come to his aid when you did. Can’t you see 




Betsy Puts Herself in Her Place 155 


that the more frightened you were, the braver 
it was to leap down to help him as you did?” 

Betsy could not get much satisfaction out 
of this view of the case. “It was all pretty 
silly, I think,” she retorted, as she watched 
Emma Clara settle herself in her chair and 
open the book. “It might have been very 
different. And then she lay back, listening 
only with one ear to the story that her 
friend read to her. 

Her mind was filled with shifting pictures 
of the happenings of the past few days, and 
her face grew more and more serious as she 
saw them pass in slow review. There were 
two sets of pictures—one was all glorious and 
victorious; and these were the visions she 
had made of her own actions, while that 
flood of patriotism surged high within her. 
The other panorama unrolled before her 
reluctant eyes in all the prosaic outlines of 
reality; and these were the actual happen¬ 
ings, revealed now in all the bareness of 
unromantic everyday light. 

“I’ve been a great goose,” she thought, 
with a saving touch of humor at her own 
pretensions. “I thought I was going to do 



156 


Betsy Hale Tries 


it all—waking them up about the hospital 
and starting them to really want it. But I’ve 
hardly done a thing. I’ve talked a good bit, 
and yet, if Philip hadn’t taken hold like he 
did, and if Selma hadn’t helped me with the 
lists and the music pupils, I don’t believe 
I’d have amounted to a row of pins.” 

This conclusion sank slowly deep into her 
mind, as she lay back quietly watching the 
breeze stirring the little curls on Emma 
Clara’s white neck. “No,” she thought, 
reluctantly, “I really haven’t done anything 
at all myself. I got Mother and Emma 
Clara to begin the whole thing, and then Selma 
and Philip kept me going.” She sighed as 
she realized her real position in the affair. 
“Even with Miss Willie Welch I was too 
slow. I suppose I’m not made for public 
life. I did very well with the coffee premiums 
and all that, for they were c private interests’, 
as Mother calls them. No, I’m not made for 
public life and I just shan’t be silly enough to 
ever think so again. I’ll just help the others.” 

Having thus disposed of her own weakness, 
and settled her part in the campaign, she 
turned her attention to the story and began 



Betsy Puts Herself in Her Place 157 


to enjoy herself with characteristic thorough¬ 
ness. Whatever Betsy did, she did with her 
whole heart. 

When the story was finished and the hour 
of rest over, she sat up briskly. 

“If you want me to help overcast seams or 
run errands for you, I’ll be very glad,” she 
said eagerly. “I’m going to help all I can 
now, and I think it will be a good plan to do 
the little things no one else wants to do.” 

“You’d best stay out here till your mother 
comes back,” Emma Clara advised as she 
gathered up her things, preparatory to going. 
“You will be all the better for the rest, even 
though you don’t really need it, perhaps. 
I’ll be over after supper, as I want to see your 
mother. Don’t you think about sewing or 
anything just now. There’s plenty of time 
to talk about that tomorrow.” 

She turned to look up the road to the 
village as she spoke, and she motioned to the 
figure appearing over the brow of the long 
slope. 

“You’ll have something to occupy your time 
now,” she said with a smile. “Selma will 
keep you company for a while at least. I’ll 



158 


Betsy Hale Tries 


run, for I’m rather late, I think. Good-bye 
until after supper,” and with a nod and wave 
of the hand she went down the gravel walk 
and out the gate. 

Selma came in with a quicker step than 
usual. Her face was pink and she evidently 
had something on the tip of her tongue. 



CHAPTER X 


Mrs. Bond’s Offer and What Came 
of It 

S ELMA’S face was rosy with excitement. 
She evidently had something to tell well 
worth hearing. “You’ll never guess,” 
she breathed importantly. 

Betsy pushed her into the low chair by the 
table and flung herself into the seat opposite. 

“Now then,” she commanded, “tell me 
every single thing you have to tell, and I’ll 
tell you about the elephant afterward.” 

Selma was entirely content with either 
topic. She opened her mouth with a click. 
“Mrs. Bond came about half an hour ago 
in the big gray limousine, and she’s been talk¬ 
ing a blue streak to father ever since. She 
asked him all about the hospital—what Dr. 
Stanton was going to do for it, and what 
everyone had given, and who had promised 
to keep on helping, and, oh, everything you 
can think of. I was in the yard under the 
( 159 ) 


160 


Betsy Hale Tries 


tree, hemming dish-towels for Mother, and I 
heard almost every word.” 

Betsy broke in, an anxious pucker begin¬ 
ning to show between her eyes. “But, 
perhaps, you oughtn’t to have listened,” she 
said doubtfully. “ They may not have wanted 
you to hear what-” 

Selma waved away her doubts with a calm 
hand. “They knew I was there because I 
spoke to Mrs. Bond when she came in, and 
she told me Helen was getting stronger—so, 
you see, they knew perfectly well I was there 
all the time. Besides, they talked loud 
enough to wake the dead.” They didn’t care 
who heard them. It was perfectly right to 
listen. Mrs. Bond said she wanted to make 
her offer to the public at once, and I was 
part of thepublic, wasn’t I?” 

Betsy’s face cleared a bit, though it was 
still dubious. She was too eager to hear the 
news, however, to be very critical. “What 
was it she offered?” she asked. 

Selma paused to let her next words sink 
deep. 

“She wanted him to tell everybody, every¬ 
body , that she was going to do her share 



Mrs. Bond’s Offer 


161 


toward the hospital. She would have given 
a lot of ground for it if Miss Willie hadn’t 
given that house; but as she can’t give ground, 
she’ll give money. She’ll give just twice 
as much as all the rest of us give altogether.” 

Betsy could not keep from raptures. “Gh, 
how sweet of her!” she cried ardently. “How 
perfectly sweet of her to do such a splendid 
thing.” 

“It’s for Helen’s birthday,” broke in Selma, 
delighted with the effect of her news. “It’s 
a sort of thank-offering for her getting well. 
Mrs. Bond is to be sent word on the twenty- 
ninth of July just how much we’ve got 
together, and then on the morning of the 
first of August she’ll send the check for twice 
that amount.” 

Betsy was on fire with enthusiasm. The 
generous deed stirred her deeply. She almost 
forgot her own ten-cent size for a moment, as 
she saw the future dancing before her. 
“We’ll get a lot together by that time,” she 
prophesied buoyantly. “We’ll show her how 
much we can do, too. By the first of August 
we’ll have a tremendous lot.” 

“I don’t know,” replied Selma. “I guess 


11 



162 


Betsy Hale Tries 


most people here have given about all they 
can afford, and the other towns aren’t going 
to help us much. When we get the Giant’s 
money, and what comes from the supper and 
Mrs. Bean’s party, we’ll have about all that 
is coming to us, I guess.” 

Betsy went swiftly over the mental list of 
donations which she kept ready for instant 
reference. “ We’ve been tremendously for¬ 
tunate so far,” she said brightly. “The 
King’s Daughters did more than we dreamed 
they could, and the Knights of the Golden 
Cuckoo have promised to fit out the operating 
room. The twenty-ninth is a long way off, 
and you don’t know what may happen by 
that time.” 

“But^everyone has done all they can,” 
persisted Selma gently. “Mr. Gaston is to 
see that the alterations on the house are done, 
and that’s all he can possibly do. Miss 
Willie won’t give any more, and I know 
Father can’t afford another cent. There 
aren’t any summer people here, like some 
towns have, and so we can’t look for extra 
donations from outsiders. Father told Mrs. 
Bond that we had about a thousand dollars 



Mrs. Bond’s Offer 


163 


so far in money gifts, and I’m pretty sure 
that we won’t have any more than that by 
the twenty-ninth.” 

Betsy sighed. “ That’s not the way to 
get more, anyway,” she said, with a deter¬ 
mination not to see Selma’s view of it. 
“We’ve just got to keep on trying and 
hoping—that’s the only way to accomplish 
anything. We’ll have about two weeks 
after the supper, and almost anything could 
happen in two weeks. That circular letter 
that Dr. Stanton got up did some good, 
after all,” she added happily. “Even if no 
one else answered it, Mrs. Bond makes up 
for all that were sent out.” 

“She didn’t say a word about the circular 
letter,” Selma told her briskly, as she paused 
with one hand on the back of Betsy’s chair. 
“It was your letter to Helen—that long one 
with pages and pages to it—that brought 
her over here to see for herself. There had 
been hospital talk before that had always 
fizzled out, you know, and she wasn’t much 
interested until Helen began talking it up 
to her. I forgot to tell you that. Now I 
must run back or I’ll be late for supper. 



164 


Betsy Hale Tries 


It’s early tonight because of the Giant, 
you know.” 

Betsy watched her hurrying off up the 
road and then she w^ent back and sat down 
in the long chair, with her lips tightly pressed 
together and a very severe expression on her 
face. 

“ There now, Betsy Hale, I hope that will 
be a lesson to you,” she said with stern 
emphasis. “You wrote that letter just to 
fill in time, and you never thought it would 
amount to a row of pins. And all the while 
you were rushing about, planning all sorts 
of great things, thinking you were in the 
big-flag class. Not one of those great plans 
came to much, and I hope now that you’re 
quite convinced that you’ll do much better 
in the ten-cent class. It’s the little things 
that nobody else wants that you must do, 
my dear.” 

She sat up very straight, thinking very 
hard, and the more she thought, the more 
positive she grew that she was fitted only 
for the very smallest services. 

“I’ll never try to be anything but a ten- 
cent size after this,” she said and straight- 



Mrs. Bond’s Offer 


165 


way she began to revise her future according 
to this humble rule. She was nothing if 
not thorough, and by the time she had laid 
out her course for the next few days there 
was a succession of small duties and unim¬ 
portant activities before her that did not 
look very inviting. But Betsy liked the 
bare and monotonous aspect of that future. 

“Something’s bound to come of it, if I 
can only stick to it,” she thought hopefully. 
“I can’t do big things—that’s flat—so I’ll 
do the little things with all my might.” 

And as far as Betsy was concerned, that 
was the most important effect of Mrs. Bond’s 
offer on her own concerns. It changed the 
character of the next two weeks entirely 
for her. It brought with it a passionate 
sense of unfitness for great endeavors. It 
woke in her a craving for despised duties. 
She bought a little ten-cent flag and pinned 
it on the wall above her bed to keep her 
down, as she said. 

With the village it was very different. 

When the news of the generous offer be¬ 
came public, there was general elation among 
the committees and partisans of the Hospital 



166 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Fund. There were boastful prophesies as 
to what was to be accomplished before the 
twenty-ninth. Public enthusiasm ran high 
and public feelings were openly expressed. 
Great things were looked for, and there were 
spirited discussions on the store porch and 
at the Ladies’ Aid. 

Betsy was delighted when the morning mail 
brought a fifty dollar check from Mrs. War¬ 
ren. 

She found it very agreeable, too, when 
Philip hailed her in the garden a little later 
with “Guess how much?” and she was 

allowed to peep into the bag that contained 
the sum of the entertainments by Mr. 

MacTavers for the benefit of the Hospital 
Fund. 

“Oh, what a lot!” she exclaimed with 
satisfying fervor. “I didn’t think there 
were so many five-cent pieces in the whole 
place. How much is it?” 

Philip tied up the bag again with a 

triumphant air. “Twenty-one dollars and 
five cents,” he told her magnificently. “He 
gave two shows last night and charged 
fifteen cents for grown-ups. I tell you 




She Was Allowed to Peep into the Bag 























































I 














. • 















I 








































Mrs. Bond’s Offer 


167 


there’s nothing like the Scotch to turn a 
penny. Those other simps haven’t given 
a single cent, and they were most of them 
taking medicine from Doc Stanton, for one 
thing or another. MacTavers is the only 
white one of the whole lot.” 

“And you got this, too,” said Betsy 
thoughtfully. “If you hadn’t told him 
about Mr. Gun and Caithness, I don’t believe 
he’d have thought of doing it. You’ve 
done such a lot, Phil. What with Miss 
Willie Welch and the parade and all, I think 
they ought to give you a medal or some¬ 
thing.” 

Philip faced her in real alarm. “See 
here, Betsy Hale, you want to drop that,” 
he shot out. “I’d never speak to you again 
if you started any stuff like that. I’d not 
stir a finger about the old hospital if—” 
He broke off at Betsy’s laughter. “Well, 
I mean it,” he ended defiantly. “Just you 
try to start anything like that and you’ll 
see!” 

He stalked off indignantly before Betsy 
could smother her giggles enough to follow 
without affronting him further by ill-timed 



168 


Betsy Hale Tries 


mirth. She heard him slam the gate very 
hard after him, and with the sound an idea 
tapped at her brain. 

“He ought to get some credit for all he 
does,” she thought warmly. “I’ll have 
to be very careful, though, for he does hate 
to be praised out loud. He’s fought both 
of the Freeman boys because their mother 
said he looked like a young Sir Galahad 
in that Templar rig.” 

She thought for a good while and then 
decided that she had found the way. 

“I’ll wait and see if he does any other 
good deeds,” she said to herself as she went 
toward the house. “He’s simply bound to 
go on doing fine things and hiding them. 
I’ll find out everything he’s done before 
I-” 

She did not say what she was going to 
do, but she looked very well pleased with 
herself, and she murmured comfortably, as 
she put her hand on the latch of the old- 
fashioned door, “And it’s just the sort of 
little, tiny, teeny thing that I can do.” 

It was evident that she said nothing about 
her idea, for no one thought or spoke much 



Mrs. Bond’s Offer 


169 


about Philip in the following days. The 
Supper was prepared for, and its possible 
receipts counted over and over again by the 
interested committees and partisans; the 
few contributions that came in from un¬ 
expected sources were posted on the store 
porch where all might read and rejoice; 
everyone was busy and hopeful. Mrs. Bond’s 
offer had put new life into the enterprise 
and the hospital was on everyone’s tongue. 

“How much is it now?” Betsy would 
ask Selma every day, for although the re¬ 
turns were posted each night and morning 
on the store porch, sometimes the Squire 
had a small donation that had not arrived 
in time for the semi-daily notice, and Selma 
always hurried over to the Wee Corner with 
the glad tidings. 

On the morning before the Supper the sum 
had reached nearly twelve hundred dollars, 
and interest was at its height. So deeply 
absorbed was the village in the hospital 
project that the fact of the departure of the 
circus was almost unheeded. Some people 
did go over to Pebble Hill to watch the long 
caravan winding its way out over the Lime- 



170 


Betsy Hale Tries 


kiln Road, and the small boys of the sur¬ 
rounding farms were swarming along the 
route of the big red wagons, as eager and 
interested as ever; but the village took no 
official notice of the event. 

Betsy and Selma were among the few 
who took a last look at the cavalcade as it 
wound its way among the trees and hedges 
of the sunny landscape. The red wagons 
glinted in the morning light and the gray 
heaving backs of the elephants showed above 
the hedgerows. 

Selma shook her head disapprovingly at 
the moving line. “Such selfish things as 
they are!” she exclaimed with as much 
scorn in her soft tones as she could muster. 
“I don’t wonder they are sneaking off with¬ 
out any music or anything. I hope they do 
feel a bit ashamed—after all of Dr. Stanton’s 
kindness to them.” 

Betsy felt quite as strongly as her friend, 
but it was her way to see both sides to the 
question. “Perhaps they really are too 
poor to give anything,” she said thought¬ 
fully. “They may want to, but they have 
to have food and stuff for the animals, and 



Mrs. Bond’s Offer 


171 


pay for hand-bills and all that, or they’d 
starve. They didn’t make anything in High- 
ville and they had to spend money right 
along for things to eat, you know. People 
can’t always give what they’d like. I know 
we used to feel-” 

“They could give something if they really 
wanted to,” declared Selma, who knew noth¬ 
ing of the pinch of poverty, and, like many 
others, was very certain of her own opinions. 
“It’s just stinginess, and I think it’s dis¬ 
gusting. I’m glad they’re gone.” 

“They did some good, anyway, for they 
started the hospital,” Betsy retorted. She 
did not like the behavior of the circus people 
any more than Selma, but her own experi¬ 
ence had taught her to judge others with a 
wider charity than the prosperous Squire’s 
daughter would ever know. 

She turned homeward with the other 
watchers as the tail of the procession dis¬ 
appeared into the hollow by West’s woods, 
linking her arm in Selma’s as they went 
down the rough pathway toward the village. 
The two girls were very silent as they went 
along, and it was only at the corner where 




172 


Betsy Hale Tries 


their paths separated that the silence was 
broken. 

Betsy had forgotten the faulty present 
in a rosy vision of the future. 

“Oh, I do hope we make a tremendous 
lot at the Supper tonight,” she burst out 
impulsively. 

Selma looked doubtful, but made no direct 
answer. 

“I’ll meet you at six exactly” she flung 
over her shoulder. “We must be on time, 
for there’ll be an awful crowd.” 



CHAPTER XI 


Doubts and Discouragements 

HE Supper was a great disappoint¬ 
ment. 



“*• “It doesn’t do to look for so much, 
I guess,” Betsy said sadly when it was all 
over and she was gathering up her belong¬ 
ings, while her mother waited for her on a 
camp-chair nearby, and Selma sat resignedly 
watching the whole disordered scene. 

It was past ten o’clock, and the crowd 
had gone some half hour ago. The tables 
were dismantled, the aids had shed their 
pretty caps and aprons and were busy sort¬ 
ing over the jumbled heaps of crumpled linen, 
or searching for mislaid articles in the usual 
frantic way. The wide lawn was strewn 
with scraps of paper and other festive litter, 
and the flare of the flickering torches lit up 
the remnants of toy balloons, and burnt- 
out paper lanterns that still clung to tree- 
twigs or hung from wires, like ghosts of the 


( 173 ) 


174 


Betsy Hale Tries 


departed festival. Betsy, with her bundle 
complete, glanced about her with a sigh. 

“It looks like I feel,” she told Selma 
whimsically. “Sort of gone-and-done-for, 
you know. Isn’t it different from that six- 
o’clock feeling we had?” 

Selma nodded. She did not seem to con¬ 
sider it worth while to speak. 

“Everything was so joyful at six,” Betsy 
went on, tying her bundle with a jerk. “It 
didn’t seem possible that we’d feel so differ¬ 
ent at ten. And we all worked dreadfully 
hard,” she ended with a tired sigh. 

Selma from her bench spoke resentfully. 
“I think you were perfectly silly to stick 
over that dish-pan all the time, when you 
ought to have been going about with the 
candy trays,” she said. ^“Mrs. Giles didn’t 
like it much, I can tell you. She said that 
you’d have sold twice as much as Jennie 
Parsons, and that Jennie was a perfectly 
good dish-washer, but a mighty poor candy 
seller. I don’t see what got into you.” 

Poor Betsy had no answer. She was 
thinking how hot the water had been and 
how sticky the many dishes had proved. 



Doubts and Discouragements 175 


And it was all in vain—her sacrifice to her 
new ten-cent rule! She had resolutely put 
herself in the meanest place, refusing the 
pleasanter duties, and nothing had come of it. 
The Supper, instead of being the great suc¬ 
cess they had all hoped, was a financial 
failure. They had not made even the usual 
amount. 

“ There were plenty of people here,” went 
on Selma in calm displeasure. “I don’t 
think there were ever more people at any 
Supper we ever had, but they were poor 
spenders. Seventy dollars for everything 
is a mighty poor showing. I guess Mrs. 
Bond won’t have to pay very high for the 
rest of it—the Garden Party and all that. 
We’re about done now.” 

It was a dark moment for Betsy—that 
minute of defeat amongst the flaring torches 
and burnt-out lanterns. She knew that 
she had been mistaken this time in her zeal 
for the lowliest place, but she was not of the 
stuff that weakly succumbs to the first 
disaster. 

“ Perhaps I might have done better with 
the trays than at the dish-pan,” she acknowl- 



176 


Betsy Hale Tries 


edged with ready common sense. “I didn’t 
think of it, that’s all, and Mrs. Giles didn’t 
say anything to me about it. But I won’t 
believe that we aren’t going to have any 
more good luck with the Hospital Fund. 
We’ll just have to try all the harder.” 

Selma interrupted with a tired yawn. 
“ Don’t argue about it now,” she said list¬ 
lessly. “I’ve had enough for tonight, if 
you haven’t. Come along, for your mother’s 
been waiting an age and she’s perfectly sick 
of it, I’m sure.” 

Betsy went slowly at her bidding. She 
was very quiet, even after she had parted 
from Selma and the others and was walking 
home through the starlight with her mother. 
She was trying to puzzle it out—the whole 
problem of service and its reward. Why 
should the circus people get so much and 
give so little? Why should Dr. Stanton 
pour out his offerings with such a liberal 
hand and reap such a slight return? Why 
should her own ardent efforts meet with 
such scant success? It was a problem that 
had puzzled succeeding generations and Betsy 
shook her head over it and then gave it up. 



Doubts and Discouragements 177 


“ I’ll just keep on the same, though,” 
she told herself with an uplift of her smooth 
brown head. I’m not going to be blue 
over one failure. I was a goose tonight not 
to ask Mrs. Giles what she wanted me to do, 
but I’ll stick to the ten-cent size for the rest 
of the time. The next time I’ll do better.” 

Her mother took her silence for despon¬ 
dency, and she slipped a comforting arm 
about her as they reached the front gate 
at the Wee Corner. 

“ Never mind Betsy-girl, we’ll do better 
next time,” she said consolingly. “This 
disappointment will only wake us up the 
more. There’s the Garden Party and a whole 
week after that. Miss Bond will have a 
harder time of it than she expected when 
the twenty-ninth of July comes around. 

It was an echo of Betsy’s own spirit and 
it sounded like a prophecy to her. She 
squeezed the encircling arm gratefully and 
looked up at the dimly seen face. Her 
belief in her clever mother was stronger 
than even her own brave hopes. 

“ It’s bound to be all right, if you say so. 
Mother dearest,” she said with a ring of 


12 



178 


Betsy Hale Tries 


relief in her tired voice. “ I shan't worry 
about it a single bit. I’ll just know were 
going to surprise Mrs. Bond on the twenty- 
ninth, no matter what anyone says.” 

She went to bed happier in this belief. 
She clung to it even when the realities of 
daylight brought her further news of a 
disheartening sort. Selma came over bright 
and early to tell it, and her manner was 
rather triumphant. 

“ What did I say, Betsy Hale?" she asked 
impressively. “ I told you that our good 
luck was gone, didn’t I? Mrs. Bean’s sick 
in bed, and they think she's getting some 
sort of a fever. We’ll never have the Garden 
Party now, you see." 

Betsy was glad that she could stick to her 
hopefulness. She did not stick to it, much to 
Selma’s disgust, and, later in the day she 
found it was worth while. Doctor Stanton, 
being called in, pronounced Mrs. Bean’s 
ailment a light case of biliousness and de¬ 
clared that there need be no fear of post¬ 
ponement for the Garden Party. So that 
small cloud passed, leaving Betsy more stub¬ 
born in her hope than ever. 



Doubts and Discouragements 179 


In the days between the Supper and the 
Garden Party she found need of a good deal 
of obstinacy in this respect, for Selma saw 
only the darker side now, and made much 
of each threatened disaster to the cause. 
She hurried over to the Wee Corner with 
every piece of news that came to her, and 
Betsy’s soul was much tried. “ Mr. Carter 
says Miss Willie’s house is awfully out of 
repair,” she told Betsy one day. “ I don’t 
believe Mr. Gaston will be able to afford to 
fix it up very nicely after all.” 

On another afternoon she hailed Betsy 
from the flag-path gate. “ Freemans are 
going to move tomorrow,” she called. Mr. 
Freeman’s sent for them to come to Alton 
right away. That makes four less at the 
Garden Party and Mrs. Freeman is giving 
up her chairmanship of the Woman’s Com¬ 
mittee.” 

The next morning she was at the dining¬ 
room window. “ Two of the McSwiggins 
have just told me they won’t take any more 
music lessons,” she said, entirely taking away 
Betsy’s appetite for toast. 

That same afternoon she brought the 



180 


Betsy Hale Tries 


paper with the weather prophecy for the 
week. “ ‘Thursday, Friday and Saturday, 
rain with easterly winds, clearing on Sun¬ 
day/a” she read with puckered brows. “You 
see, it’s going to be just as I said. We haven’t 
had over ten dollars since the Supper, and 
now it’ll rain for Mrs. Bean’s party. Our 
good luck’s gone for sure.” 

Betsy did the best she could to stem the 
flood of evidence of failure and, thanks to 
Emma Clara and Philip, she kept herself 
true to her resolutions. Emma Clara was 
too busy with her dressmaking to spend 
much time on speculation as to mere possi¬ 
bilities. “Don’t you get discouraged by 
Selma’s talk,” she told Betsy one day as 
they were taking home some small dresses 
that had just been finished. “We’re doing 
the best we can, and no one can do better.” 

Philip was more emphatic. “Selma’s in a 
blue funk and she doesn’t see straight,” he 
said with his most superior air. “Of course, 
we’re going a bit slow now, but we’ll brisk 
up at the end. It’s always so with these 
things.” 

Betsy was greatly heartened by these 



Doubts and Discouragements 181 


words. “Are you going to do anything, 
Phil?” she asked rather timidly. “I won’t 
let on if you’ll tell me.” 

His look of surprise was so genuine she 
could not doubt. “Who—me?” he asked 
with a rather startled look. “Why, no, of 
course not. I’ve about done all my stunts. 
There isn’t anything more I could do.” 

Betsy acknowledged this with a sigh. 
“There isn’t a thing to do but wait,” she 
said soberly. “I suppose we’ve all done 
our best. The twenty-ninth won’t be very 
long after the Garden Party. “I wish it 
were Saturday now. I’d like to have it 
over.” 

That was the way she looked at it now. 
The fun of being an aid, and of wearing one 
of the pretty flowery dresses that Mrs. Bean 
had made up out of crepe paper, and of 
acting her part in the dainty affair was 
almost forgotten in the eager anxiety for the 
more practical side of it. Memories of the 
disappointing Supper would rise when she 
thought of the Garden Party, and she was 
constantly shifting her estimate of the amount 
they would make. 



182 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“I won’t look for very much and then I’ll 
be bound to be surprised,” she told herself, 
and she did try very hard indeed to keep 
down her hopes, although it was rather hard 
to be too doubtful when the weather man 
proved entirely wrong, and Thursday and 
Friday were gloriously beautiful days. 

“It won’t rain a drop tomorrow,” she told 
Selma triumphantly as they watched a perfect 
sunset from the top of Pebble Hill. “Per¬ 
haps all that gold in the cloud linings is a 
good omen, too. See, there’s a regular 
river of gold behind the trees by the creek 
down in Dr. Stanton’s meadow.” 

Selma’s eyes brightened as she gazed. 
She was not, however, of a nature to give 
up a cherished conviction. “That’s super¬ 
stition, Betsy Hale,” she said with some 
severity. “You sound like an old pow-wow 
doctor, instead of a Christian girl. It would 
serve you right if we didn’t make a cent 
tomorrow.” 

Betsy laughed good-naturedly. She was 
always strong in her belief in coming happi¬ 
ness when she was on such an hilltop with 
such a sweep of country beneath her feet. 




Doubts and Discouragements 183 


It gave her an uplifting sense of power and 
freedom that sometimes rather went to her 
head. 

“Wait and see,’ 5 she returned gaily, re¬ 
peating the formula that had grown to 
be a by-word with them. “We’ll see which 
of us is right at sunset time tomorrow.” 

Then they turned and went slowly down 
the long hill, as the twilight came on and 
the first star hung quivering in the high 
heavens just over the chimneys of the Wee 
Corner. 

Betsy said good-night to her friend with 
something of that golden sunset glow linger¬ 
ing in her heart. Her hilltop uplift was still 
with her when she went in to the lamp-lit 
sitting room and found her mother busy with 
proof sheets for her book, and she was quite 
content to slip away, after a silent kiss, 
to her dormer room to sit and dream by the 
favorite window. 

There were very few signs of pin marks 
on the sill now, for the room had received a 
coat of paint in the interval since the birth¬ 
day breakfast, and there had been no need 
for such relief in the smoother days of their 



184 


Betsy Hale Tries 


comparative prosperity. Betsy looked appre¬ 
hensively at the spot where she used to punch 
in the pins. 

“ Thank goodness, I haven’t needed to do 
that for ages and ages,” she said as she 
cuddled down in her old place where she 
could see the outline of the tall pines against 
the sky. “It’s been sort of tempting when 
Selma was so terribly discouraging, but I 
haven’t done it once since the fresh white 
paint went on.” 

The warm prophetic glow of the golden 
sunset was still at her heart, and she knelt, 
leaning out to breathe in deep, full breaths 
of the sweet night air. She forgot the pin¬ 
pricks of disappointed hope, and she saw 
only the sparkle of the peaceful stars above 
her in the darkening sky. 

“Tomorrow will be a beautiful day,” she 
repeated to herself. “I feel sure that it will 
be a happy one, too.” 

She sat for a while reveling in the happi¬ 
ness of confidence restored, and then she 
went to bed contentedly, saying an extra 
sentence or two of thanksgiving in her prayers 
and giving the little ten-cent flag on her wall 
a tender pat. 



Doubts and Discouragements 185 


“Whatever comes, I’ll try to be cheerful,” 
she said, as she slipped into her white bed. 
“Anybody can be cheerful, even though they 
can’t do much else. That’s a ten-cent 
service that’s just in my line.” 

But, oh, how different from the visions 
of the night are the realities of the clear 
morning light! And how hard it is to put 
into practice the resolutions that are spoken 
so easily! 

Betsy woke next morning with a tiny 
stab of pain in the side of her throat. She 
did not say much about it during the morn¬ 
ing, though she was perhaps a shade less 
cheerful than usual and more given to swift 
retort than was her custom. Selma found 
her strangely indifferent to the delightful 
task of helping Mrs. Bean prepare her pretty 
garden for the afternoon fete. 

“What’s the matter with you today?” 
she asked with real concern, as Betsy sat 
down dolefully in the midst of the stir and 
bustle and put her hand to her throat. 
“Aren’t you feeling all right? You look 
sort of queer to me.” 

The sympathy in her tone was too much 



186 


Betsy Hale Tries 


for Betsy. Her eyes grew very misty and 
her voice caught as she answered dismally, 
“I —I don’t know for sure, but I think I’m 
getting a sore throat. I’ve tried to believe 
that it doesn’t hurt, like the Christian 
Scientists tell you to do, but it keeps on. 
I guess I’ll have to go home and stay there. 
It may be something fearfully contagious, 
you know, and it would be wicked to stay 
around among people.” 

How she hoped that Selma would contradict 
her, and would insist that she stay for such 
poor enjoyment as she might have, with 
that pricking little pain in her neck! But 
Selma was, above all things,7"a practical 
girl. She knew that Betsy had spoken 
sensibly, and she agreed hastily, though with 
real regret. She was very sorry for Betsy 
and she walked all the way home with her. 

“I’ll ask Dr. Stanton to stop and see you 
after his office hours,” she promised as she 
hurried off. “ He’ll let you come back with 
us, I guess. I’ll look for you by three any¬ 
way.” 

Betsy sat in the long chair, wishing very 
much that her mother had not been called 



Doubts and Discouragements 187 


into town today of all days. She could have 
told Betsy just what was right to do. Lucy 
was kind, but Betsy had no opinion of her 
judgment. “If Dr. Stanton doesn’t come—” 
she thought, in a whirl of disappointment. 
“If Emma Clara weren’t so busy — If 
Mother only were home—” 

Dr. Stanton did come, however, and he 
spoke very decisively. She must stay away 
from garden parties and other gatherings. 
Her sore throat was only a slight one, but 
it might be quite as contagious as a more 
severe one. She might stop out of doors 
all she liked, so long as the pain in her throat 
did not grow worse. If the pain grew worse 
she was to send him word and he would 
attend to the rest. 

After he had gone Betsy went slowly up¬ 
stairs and took out a paper of perfectly new 
pins. Than she sat down and selected the 
old spot, where the new paint only imper¬ 
fectly covered the wounds of the past. She 
stuck ten pins into the hard old sill, and 
with every jab of their points she gritted 
her teeth hard together. But she did not 
cry. That was one consolation. 



188 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Then, having performed this little ritual, 
she rose up bravely and looked about her 
with eyes bright with her unshed tears. 
The glint of red and blue and a flash of white 
mingled with the gray of the wall, swimming 
in the haze before her. It was the little, 
humble flag signaling to her through her 
tears. 

For a moment she simply could not respond. 
She stood clasping her hands together in 
mute resistance to its appeal. She did not 
want to be humble-minded and sensible 
and serviceable here in the solitude of her 
lonely home. She wanted an audience to 
her lowly deeds. 

Then with a sudden surrender of her own 
will, she flung out her hands toward the tiny 
banner. 

“All right,” she said, and her clear voice 
was sweet with eager compliance. “I’ll 
do it. I’ll do it—for you! I’ll not fuss 
and fret over it. I’ll go down into the garden 
and try to be good.” 

It was very hard indeed to do it. The 
others were over there beyond the screening 
treetops making merry in their pretty dresses 



Doubts and Dicsouragements 189 


in Mrs. Bean’s pretty garden. The whole 
village was intent on the festivity, while 
Betsy must sit herself down in the long 
chair with only a yellow dog for company 
and try to make believe she did not care. 

It was very hard indeed to do it. It was 
only by dint of much argument and by being 
very severe with the sympathetic Mac that 
Betsy accomplished it at last. 

And just as she had arrived at a state of 
real resignation to her fate, along came the 
other yellow dog, and changed the whole 
scene in a twinkling! 



CHAPTER XII 


Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 

B ETSY had barely lost herself in the 
fascinating occupation of “playing 
bird/’ when it happened. 

She was lying back in the long chair, 
staring with all her might and main up into 
the high green branches above her until the 
sense of being up there among the airy perches 
had grown so real that she was almost in 
danger of falling off of a high twig where her 
imagination had balanced her. Consequently 
she did not see the man on the bicycle ride 
slowly by, with a yellow twin brother of the 
sleeping Mac trundling contentedly after him. 
Nor was she conscious of the fact that the 
front gate had been left ajar by the doctor’s 
hurried exit. 

She had just hopped from one high green 
bower to another in the next branch when 
bedlam broke loose under her very feet. 
Down she came to the earth in a jiffy, tucking 

( 190 ) 


Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 191 


up her toes swiftly and shrinking away from 
the howling, growling, snapping, snarling 
whirl of yellow fur on the grass beside the 
long chair. 

“Oh, Mac!” she cried. “Stop it! Stop 
it this minute! Do you hear me?” 

Mac did not hear, or if he did, preferred 
to ignore her feeble command. The whirling 
and growling went on briskly until a tall, 
energetic man came suddenly on the scene 
and grabbed the collar of one yellow furry 
whirl, and pulled him clean out of the scuffle, 
while Betsy, taking heart, laid hold of Mac’s 
collar, and the two contestants were sepa¬ 
rated by the width of the flagstone walk. 

“I hope my chap here hasn’t alarmed you,” 
said the man in the nicest way. “He’s 
really not a bad sort usually. It’s the Irish 
blood of him that rises once in a way, and 
then he forgets himself.” 

Betsy looked at the dog under his hand. 
He was sitting up quietly, with his tongue 
lolling out and his head cocked amiably 
enough toward his late enemy who was 
eyeing him thoroughly. “He looks quite 
pleasant now,” she agreed, untucking her 



192 


Betsy Hale Tries 


feet and sitting up. “He’s very like Mac 
indeed. And Mac is generally perfectly 
sweet. You can’t think how good he is 
most of the time.” 

Her earnestness was matched by the man’s 
serious air. “I can believe you. My chap 
is like that, too. He doesn’t trespass as a 
rule. It must have been that he recognized 
a possible brother in your dog, and came in to 
investigate.” 

Betsy felt she must apologize in her turn. 
“Mac shouldn’t have flown at him, but of 
course he’s a watch-dog for us, you know, 
and-” 

“He wouldn’t be worth his salt if he hadn’t 
tried to put out the intruder,” declared the 
man. “ He was doing his plain duty. They’ll 
be friends now, I think, if they have a chance. 
They’re both gentlemen enough to realize 
that the need for flying at each other’s 
throats is over. Suppose we try them at it?” 

He released his dog guardedly, and Betsy 
loosed the hold on Mac’s collar. It was 
surprising how well he had judged them. 
They advanced slowly, sniffing primly, and 
then as they came closer, grew more friendly 



Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 193 


until they were quite at home with each 
other. Mac was ready to lead the new¬ 
comer off to show his secret haunts, the hiding 
places for bones and his own special rabbit- 
runs, when the man whistled a low whistle. 

“We must say ‘good afternoon,’ old chap,” 
he said, as the dog came to heel. “Perhaps 
you’ll meet your friend later, if we have luck 
here.” And then, turning again to Betsy, 
he asked, “There’s a fairly good inn here, 
is there not? I think I’ve heard that much 
of this village.” 

Betsy was glad to tell him of the com¬ 
forts of the old tavern, for she had taken a 
fancy to this kind, long man and it was 
pleasant to think that he was not going to 
vanish entirely. She warned him against 
the mistake of going to the newer inn, which, 
she earnestly told him, was “perfectly horrid,” 
and after he had thanked her and was saying 
his farewells, she suddenly remembered her 
mission in life—making the most of trifles. 

Here was a chance of service almost lost. 

The long man was out of the gate and on 
the road with one hand on his bicycle when 
the memory of the Garden Party flashed 


13 



194 


Betsy Hale Tries 


over her. She was beside him in an instant 
and her words tumbled over each other in her 
eagerness. 

“Oh, won’t you go to the Garden Party, 
if you’re going to stop over night? You 
needn’t spend much, of course, but even 
five cents will be better than nothing.” 

The man swung about and looked down 
at her as she stopped, out of breath. He 
was amused and yet he listened respect¬ 
fully, quite as though she had been a grown¬ 
up instead of a breathless fourteen-year-old. 
“Please tell me about it,” he said seriously. 
“I’m hardly in trim for social affairs, but 
if it is so very urgent as you seem to 
think-” 

Betsy did tell him about it. More than 
that, she invited him to come into the garden 
again while she explained the whole affair; 
and they sat down to it very comfortably, 
with the two yellow Irish friends at their 
feet and the cool breeze blowing the scents 
of sweet white clover and yellow lilies all 
about them. 

The man was very satisfactory. He told 
Betsy something of himself in the course 



Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 195 


of the talk. He was in search of health, 
it seemed, and was in a fair way of finding 
it among the blue hills where his fancy had 
led him. He seemed to know a good deal 
about the village, but Betsy found that he 
was very well informed about most places, 
and she attached no significance to that 
fact. He might stop hereabouts, he said, 
while the fancy held him, and he was very 
willing to enter into Betsy’s enthusiasms 
for at least the space while she spoke. 

He was a very good listener. She told 
him about the hospital scheme. She elabo¬ 
rated on the part that Philip played in each 
move of the affair. She proudly announced 
E mm a Clara’s part in the matter, and Miss 
Willie’s donation, winding up with Mrs. 
Bond’s offer and the slump in the Hospital 
Fund during the past days. 

“Very, very little has come in this last 
week,” she told him regretfully. “Selma 
says our luck is gone, but I keep on hoping. 
If those circus people had any gratitude 
they’d have given something before they 
left, but the Giant was the only one,” and 
then she told him about Mr. MacTavers 
and his offering on the shrine of Caithness. 



196 


Betsy Hale Tries 


She was enjoying it all immensely, when 
the clock among the tree-tops beyond the 
big field sent a sudden reminder on the 
scented breeze. Betsy came to the present 
necessities with a start. 

“Oh, there’s five striking,” she said, rising 
hastily. “Won’t you please go now? I’m 
so afraid you’ll miss getting there if you 
aren’t rather brisk. It’s only from four to 
seven, you know. And you might take 
ever so long getting settled at the hotel.” 

The man stood up, laughing, and held 
out a lean, brown hand. “I’ll go at once 
if you’ll promise to give me a card of intro¬ 
duction to someone at the party,” he said 
with a twinkle in his nice eyes. “I am 

sometimes quite shy and-” 

Betsy did not wait for the rest of his 
speech. She took him quite seriously. Away 
she flew into the house, and came back 
breathless again in a minute, with a sheet of 
note-paper in her hand. 

“That’s the best I can do,” she panted. 
“Of course, I couldn’t use mother’s cards, 
and I haven’t any of my own. This is sort 
of floppy, but it will answer, won’t it?” 



Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 197 


He looked it over, and was kind enough 
not to smile, though Betsy when she saw it 
afterward in Emma Clara’s desk, laughed 
over the scrawled lines. “ Please make him 
feel at home. Betsy Hale.” 

“Am I to deliver this to anyone in par¬ 
ticular?” he asked gravely as he folded the 
sheet and stowed it away. 

Betsy laughed at his expression. “Of 
course,” she told him cheerfully. “I forgot 
to put it on the outside. You can remember 
it, though, I think. Miss Emma Clara 
Simpson is the name. You can remember 
that, can’t you?” 

He said that he could, and Betsy watched 
him ride away up the long slope toward the 
village, followed by his yellow dog until he 
disappeared over the top of the ridge. Then 
she went back to the long chair. 

But she simply could not go back to “play¬ 
ing bird,” although she tried it two or three 
times. Her mind was too full of the stranger 
to settle up there among the green branches 
again. 

“He had nice hands and feet,” she thought, 
“and a pleasant voice. He’s quite polite, 



198 


Betsy Hale Tries 


too. I suppose he must be pretty poor, if 
he has to ride a bicycle about country roads 
to make himself well. I wonder if I ought 
to have insisted on his going to the Garden 
Party? Perhaps he’s too poor to afford it.” 

Her fears were set at rest when Philip 
ran over with a generous portion of ice 
cream for her. “ There’s a new fellow in 
golf stockings and brogans that’s come to 
see Emma Clara,” he told her. “He’s 
spending plenty of money, I can tell you. 
I bet he’s awfully sweet on her or else he’s 
shpwing off. I’ll tell you more about him 
when I come over later.” 

Betsy left him go without an explanation. 
She saved that up for future enjoyment. 
“I wonder what he can be?” she thought, 
as she lay back luxuriously with the cool 
pink mound growing swiftly less under her 
industrious spoon. “He said he’d stay if 
he had luck. And here he is spending lots 
of money. I wonder what he can be?” 

She shook off the unformed fear that he 
might be a pickpocket or burglar. “He’s 
too nice for anything horrid,” she said de¬ 
cisively, and she finished the pink ice cream 



Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 199 


in a comfortable state of anticipation of 
Philip’s next visit. “For I know I’ll hear 
something nice about the man,” she thought. 

The pricking pain in her throat was quite 
gone, and she was entirely happy in her 
imaginings. She planned a delightful future 
for the next few days, with the long brown 
man growing quite well and helping greatly 
with the Hospital Fund. 

Suddenly Selma’s placid face appeared 
above the hedge. 

“I can’t stay a minute,” she said as she 
came toward Betsy. “I just ran over with 
this ice cream and cake for you. How’s 
your throat?” 

Betsy sat up with a giggle. She took the 
pink mound very gratefully. Although her 
hunger for ice cream was somewhat abated, 
she had not lost her relish for friendly deeds, 
and Selma’s remembrance of her was very 
sweet to her. 

“How are you getting on?” she asked. 

Selma turned her most placid face upon 
her. “We’re doing fine,” she answered 
happily. “Emma Clara’s gentleman friend 
bought all the candy right out. He’s spent 



200 


Betsy Hale Tries 


a lot already. He looks pretty poor, too, 
with those rough clothes and wearing short 
pants to a garden party. I’ll be over again 
and tell you how much we make.” 

She was gone before Betsy could tell 
her about her encounter with the man in 
short pants. She had hardly disappeared 
over the hill before Emma Clara slipped 
in by the back way. She carried something 
covered carefully. 

“I thought you could eat some ice cream,” 
she began, throwing off the paper napkin 
to disclose the third pink mound. She 
stopped in surprise at Betsy’s ripples of 
laughter. Then she saw the plate in Betsy’s 
lap and the other empty plate upon the 
ground beside her chair, and she, too, broke 
into a merry peal. 

“Do sit down and eat it yourself,” begged 
Betsy. “It won’t take long, and I’m sure 
you haven’t had anything to eat yet.” 

Emma Clara had to confess that she had 
had no time so far for refreshment, and that 
the pink ice cream in the cool garden would 
be very agreeable. 

“I’ll have to eat and run, though,” she 



Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 201 


said, dropping into the nearest chair. “I 
promised Mrs. Bean to be back right away. 
There’s a perfect stack of sandwiches to be 
made—those we had hardly lasted half an 
hour—and Miss Wilson is terribly slow about 
making them.” 

Betsy was alive with eager interest. 
“ You’re getting along beautifully, aren’t 
you?” she asked with relish. “Philip and 
Selma both said that the bicycle man was 
helping a lot.” 

“If you mean Major Hastings,” corrected 
Emma Clara with a twinkle, “I can tell 
you he’s been a perfect godsend to us. 
He’s bought all the candy and he’s treated 
I don’t know how many of the boys and girls 
to ice cream and cake and grab-bags all 
around. Why didn’t you tell me his name, 
though, when you sent that note to me? 
It was rather queer to have to ask him who 
he was.” 

“I didn’t know his name,” Betsy had to 
confess, and then she told Emma Clara 
all that she knew of Major Hastings. “You 
see,” she ended, “he was so nice and friendly 
that I never thought of his name. I just 
seemed to know him pretty well without it.” 



202 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Emma Clara had disposed of her saucer¬ 
ful in a shockingly short time. She rose 
now, dropping a kiss on Betsy’s cheek as 
she passed. “I’ll have to run,” she said 
brightly, “but I’ll be back when its over 
and tell you all about it.” 

Betsy lay back in the long chair with her 
eyes on the western sky. The sun had sunk 
behind the tall trees of the thicket across 
the winding road, and a few light cloud- 
wreaths trailed luminously across the wide, 
high heavens. 

“It’s not going to be much of a sunset,” 
thought Betsy with a twinge of regret. 
“There won’t be a lot of gold like yesterday.” 

She sat up again watching the shifting 
panorama of the sky with eager eyes. Yes¬ 
terday’s golden cloud linings had proved 
prophetic. What would tonight’s omen be? 

“It’s just plain light,” she thought. “Not 
a bit of color to it.” 

But as she watched, the light died down 
and the miracle began. First the highest 
tips of the trailing cloud-wreaths glowed 
pink with the vanished radiance. Then, 
as the twilight grew rapidly, a flood of color 



Betsy Introduces Major Hastings 203 


leaped out of the low western horizon, rising 
and pulsing higher and higher till the whole 
sky was aflame. Pink and violet and crim¬ 
son rioted wave after wave, only to melt and 
change, as she looked, into a sea of living gold. 

The beauty of it took her breath for a 
moment. The next minute she found speech. 

“I do hope Selma sees it,” she said aloud. 
“I wonder if she’ll say I’m superstitious 
now.” 

The glory faded so swiftly that it seemed 
a long time to Betsy before the click of the 
gate told her that part of her suspense was 
at an end. Lucy, who had been bound by a 
solemn promise to come back as soon as the 
gains were counted, came over the dim grass 
to her chair. Betsy knew that she bore 
good news. 

‘"They’ve been sold out this half hour,” 
she told her eager listener. “But the folks 
are havin’ such a mortal good time, they 
can’t get ’em to go. It was twenty minutes 
to seven when they was cleaned out, and 
everything done for, but I couldn’t hear 
what they’d made till this very blessed 
minute. They cleared one hundred and 



204 


Betsy Hale Tries 


ten whole dollars at that minty little party, 
and they might have done more if they’d 
had the stuff to sell.” 

Betsy clasped her hands joyously. “Oh, 
it was a good omen, after all,” she cried 
gaily. “Selma was wrong about our luck. 
And the sky was all gold tonight, too!” 

Lucy started for her kitchen. “I don’t 
know what you mean about skies and that,” 
she said. “But I do know that one hundred 
and ten whole dollars is a mortal heap to 
make at a minty little party like that.” 

When she was alone again Betsy smiled 
up at the last faint gleam behind the tall 
pines. “It was all gold tonight,” she re¬ 
peated happily. 

A moment later she added, “I wonder 
how he could spend so much, if he’s really 
so poor that he has to ride a bicycle about 
the country to get himself well?” 



CHAPTER XIII 


The Stranger Within the Gates 

B ETSY was not the only one who 
wondered about the long, brown man 
who had dropped from the skies that 
sunny July afternoon. 

All the village discussed Major Hastings 
industriously. Who was he? Why did 
he stop so long at Bogart’s Tavern? Where 
did he get his money, if he were really obliged 
to convalesce on a bicycle, so to speak. 

“He’s got only one suit to his back,” 
declared Delia Skinner, the chambermaid 
at Bogart’s. “And he don’t look like he 
ever worked with his hands.” 

Emma Clara, who had seen much of the 
brown, pleasant major, said absolutely noth¬ 
ing. Even from the very first she was per¬ 
sistently silent. 

“Emma Clara’s got a beau,” whispered 
Selma a couple of days after the Garden 
Party. “I saw them walking this morning— 

( 205 ) 


206 


Betsy Hale Tries 


of all times—and he was talking a blue 
streak. They were so taken up that they 
never saw me.” 

“I suppose they were talking about the 
hospital/’ returned Betsy, quick to defend 
her absent friend. “ That’s what we’re 
all thinking of these last few days before the 
twenty-ninth.” 

Selma looked very wise. She shook her 
head slowly. “Maybe it was,” she said, 
“and maybe it wasn’t. I think it wasn’t. 
He didn’t need to shake hands with her 
for hospital work, did he? Or give her a 
keepsake right out in broad daylight? I 
think he acted rather funny for hospital 
work.” 

Betsy would not discuss the matter, and, 
as it was the lesson hour for two of the small 
pupils, Selma could not pursue the subject. 

Although Betsy would not discuss it with 
Selma, she thought long and deeply of it, 
and the first chance she had alone with Philip 
she put her question, knowing she could 
trust him. 

“Do—do you think Major Hastings likes 
Emma Clara, Phil?” she asked, hesitating 



The Stranger Within the Gates 207 


over so delicate a subject. “Selma says 
he goes walking with her.” 

“You bet he likes her,” returned Philip 
with startling frankness. He at least had 
no reservations. “He’s always helping her 
take home those dresses, or he’s sitting on 
Simpson’s porch, or he’s chinning with old 
Simpson in the garden. Why shouldn’t he 
like her? She’s nice enough, isn’t she?” 

Betsy was silent. She had seen little of 
her friend in the last few busy weeks, and 
though she had been entirely content to 
allow the hospital to absorb Emma Clara, 
she found that she rather begrudged her to 
Major Hastings—even though she herself 
had voted him a dear. 

“He’s a good sort, too,” went on Philip, 
more earnestly. “I’d swear he was as 
straight as a string, although—you won’t 
tell, will you?” Betsy’s look assured him 
and he went on in a lower tone. “Although 
I can’t find his name in any of the Army 
Lists. I’ve looked them over and over. 
There’s a Major William Hastings Gordon, 
but that’s the nearest I could come to him, 
unless he’s General Henry Hastings, who’s 
in the Philippines now.” 



208 


Betsy Hale Tries 


This was very discouraging. Betsy tried 
her mother next. 

This time she announced the fact. “ Major 
Hastings likes Emma Clara a great deal,” 
she said abruptly, as they were breakfasting 
in the summer house. 

It was the twenty-eighth day of July, 
and the Hospital Fund had only gained 
four poor dollars since the addition of the 
hundred from Mrs. Bean’s little Garden 
Party. Affairs were in a critical condition, 
and Betsy was feeling the strain. She had 
shunned the Simpson house and kept much 
to herself, and the subject of Major Hastings 
and Emma Clara had become a sore one to 
her. 

It did not help matters that her mother 
should hesitate over her answer. She cer¬ 
tainly did hesitate—of that Betsy was quite 
positive. When she spoke it was with a 
smile. 

“We all like Emma Clara a good deal, 
I think. Major Hastings is only proving 
that his tastes are the same as ours,” she 
said lightly. “Did she tell you that he had 
ordered half a dozen little dresses for his 



The Stranger Within the Gates 209 


nieces? She says they are to be perfectly 
extravagant as to real lace and handkerchief 
linen. She expects to make over fifty dollars 
on them.” 

‘‘Fifty dollars!” gasped Betsy, forgetting 
her grievance in this joyful news. “How 
gorgeous! That’ll make at least seventy- 
five that she has earned. She had twenty- 
five saved up before he came. We’ll get 
up to fourteen hundred, with all the little 
dribs that will come in at the last minute. 
Oh, I do wish that somebody would make 
it up to fifteen hundred. We did so hope 
for fifteen hundred.” 

She got out her pad and pencil and went 
out to the summer house to figure the possi¬ 
bilities, but count it up as she would, the 
figures remained stubbornly the same. Emma 
Clara’s seventy-five brought the total up to 
thirteen seventy-six, and the proceeds from 
the music scholars, when collected, would 
swell the sum to thirteen hundred and seventy- 
nine dollars and fifty-four cents. 

“There isn’t any more to come in, either,” 
said Betsy with a sigh as she ended her 
figuring. “It’s dreadfully disappointing. 


14 



210 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Mrs. Bond’s offer hasn’t livened things up 
much after all. I guess they’d have all 
done as much without it.” 

All that day she hoped against hope that 
the desired fifteen hundred might be reached. 
She was in a fever of expectancy whenever 
she saw Selma or Philip headed in her direc¬ 
tion, but, though she waited up until nearly 
ten o’clock in the hope that some messenger 
might bring the joyful tidings of a belated 
donation, nothing more was added to the 
fund. It remained thirteen hundred and 
seventy-nine dollars and fifty-four cents. 

“The sunset omen didn’t work this time,” 
she told herself rather dismally as she went 
to bed. “I guess the gold all went down 
with the sun, and we won’t get any of it.” 

The fateful twenty-ninth of July dawned 
fair and clear, with a flood of rose and gold 
that seemed to presage more fortunate hours. 

Betsy wakened in a flurry of spirits, re¬ 
membering what day it was. She dressed 
slowly, stopping now and again to count 
up the unchangeable sum that remained 
obstinately the same for all her counting. 
“If it only had been fifteen hundred,” she 



The Stranger Within the Gates 211 


murmured as she brushed her hair. “Then 
we’d have had three thousand from Mrs. 
Bond. It seems to me that we ought to have 
got fifteen hundred.” 

How she wished that she had been able 
to help bring in some really large sum! 
Her own ten-cent size looked very contempt¬ 
ible to her indeed at this moment. 

“I wish—” she began, and stopped in a 
flutter. 

Philip was dashing down the winding road, 
and she knew he must come with news of 
importance. She hung out of her dormer 
window, hailing him excitedly as he reached 
the gate. 

“How much is it?” she cried. 

She knew it was news of the hospital, 
and she was not wrong. 

“It’s just posted on the store porch,” 
he called up, coming close under the window. 
“Major Hastings has promised an X-ray 
outfit. Isn’t it dandy?” 

Betsy stared down at his uplifted face with 
amazement and disappointment in her eyes. 
“An X-ray outfit!” she echoed stupidly. 
“An X-ray outfit!” Then, before he could 



212 


Betsy Hale Tries 


answer, she broke out impatiently, “Oh, 
why didn’t he give the money for it instead! 
He could have said what it was for. Then 
we’d have had twice as much from Mrs. 
Bond.” 

Philip was rather put out by this reception 
of his news. “You ought to be glad he’s 
given so much, anyway,” he retorted rather 
sharply. “It’ll cost a couple of thousand, 
they say. He’s a right to give it as he pleases, 
I suppose.” 

“It would have been such a lot, though, 
if he’d given the money,” wailed Betsy in 
the first shock of her disappointment. “Think 
of what we’d had from Mrs. Bond!” 

Philip turned on his heel. “If you’re 
going to talk that way—” he said in dis¬ 
pleasure, and off he stalked, striking for the 
highway with brisk steps. 

Betsy did not even look after him. She 
sat staring out into the dark branches of the 
pines, frowning a bit and adding up the 
delicious amount that would have been theirs 
if Major Hastings had shown more fore¬ 
thought. 

Her face changed, however, as a memory 



The Stranger Within the Gates 213 


drifted across her busy mind. 4 'The sunset 
omen is working, anyway/ 5 she said more 
happily as she rose to go down-stairs. "Per¬ 
haps more things will happen/ 5 

More things did happen. 

Before noon Betsy had two surprises, 
and very pleasant ones at that. Selma 
came hurrying over about eleven o’clock 
with a hasty summons. "We’re all to 
meet in our front yard,” she said breath¬ 
lessly. "All of us who have been doing 
things for the hospital. Father got word 
just now that someone was coming at about 
half-past eleven to meet the Hospital Com¬ 
mittees. Hurry, do, and tell your mother. 
I’ll stop for Emma Clara on the way back.” 

Betsy flew to do her bidding, and found 
her mother quite as eager as she to hurry 
off to Worthington’s with her. The mystery 
of the summons added zest to the gathering. 
"It’s like a play, isn’t it?” said Betsy as they 
hastened along. "It’s dreadfully exciting.” 

Everyone else seemed to think so, too, 
for they found the others assembling with 
eager haste. The pretty front lawn before 
the white house was quite filled when they 



214 


Betsy Hale Tries 


reached it. All of those who had any hand 
in the affairs of the hospital were there, 
and expectancy was on tiptoe as the watches 
and clocks crept onward to the appointed 
moment. 

“It’s exactly fifteen minutes past,” cried 
a voice from the waiting crowd and as it 
spoke, a sound of trumpets made them all 
turn and stare up the Town Road. 

Down the hilly, curving road in the full 
tide of the mellow noon sunshine came a 
strange procession. A glint of red and a 
flare of gold shone between the drooping 
elms that lined the highway, and a broad, 
heaving gray back surged heavily forward. 

“It’s the circus! It’s the circus!” cried 
a dozen excited voices. 

“Hurrah! Hurrah for the elephant!” 
screamed the small boys who fringed the 
crowd. “Hey, there’s Jimmy, good old 
Jimmy!” and away they pelted through 
the dust to meet and greet the oncoming 
cavalcade. 

It was Jimmy Delaney on the small trick 
donkey, riding in state. It was the circus, 
or part of it at any rate. The manager’s 



The Stranger Within the Gates 215 


great gaudy wagon was there, and the cow¬ 
boys and cowgirls were there. The two 
elephants with their drivers in the many- 
buttoned uniforms were there, and the big 
brown bear was there, too. 

Betsy, divining why all this was happen¬ 
ing, turned a glowing face to Selma. “They 
were better than we thought, you see,” 
she whispered. “They must have come 
back to help-” 

“S-s-sh,” hissed Selma, though she, too, 
glowed with sudden admiration. It was 
plain she was glad to have been mistaken. 
“Hark, the herald is going to speak.” 

The herald, in the same faded green and 
gold suit, with the same gilded megaphone, 
rode slowly up the road, following Jimmy 
Delaney’s tiny donkey. He stopped when 
he was opposite the group on Squire Worth¬ 
ington’s lawn, and with a flourish of his 
golden trumpet, he flung out his message. 

“ Greeting to all good people! The manager 
and members of the Top-Notch Circus bring 
greeting to the good town that ministered 
to them in their need. To the Hospital 
Fund, with best wishes!” and he held up 




216 


Betsy Hale Tries 


aloft a canvas bag that all might see. “To 
the Hospital Fund with best wishes,” he 
shouted, as he bent to thrust the bag into 
the hands of the Squire who stood smiling 
and staring on the curb near him. Then 
in quite a different tone, one that came from 
his heart and not speaking now through 
this gilt trumpet, he added, as he rode on, 
“Good luck to you all! The blessing of the 
road upon you!” 

Squire Worthington, reading the tag, held 
up his hand for attention. “Two hundred 
dollars from the Top-Notch Circus,” he 
shouted. “Two hundred for the Hospital 
Fund!” 

Then what a babel broke out! How the 
small boys shrieked and the men cheered 
and the women waved their handkerchiefs! 
Everybody was speaking at once, and every¬ 
body was wild with enthusiasm. Never was 
gratitude more opportune or gift more appre¬ 
ciated. The circus that had slipped away 
from their midst unnoticed came back in a 
clamor of applause. 

“Isn’t it perfectly lovely that we’ll have 
the fifteen hundred and over,” cried Betsy, 



The Stranger Within the Gates 217 


as the frenzy began to subside. “What 
dears they were to remember us after they 
had gone off so far. Lots of people would 
have forgotten all about it.” 

“I guess they’re pretty good after all,” 
said Selma placidly. “Two hundred is an 
awful lot of money to give away when you’re 
pretty poor.” 

They stood with the others while the 
procession wound its way past. They waved 
to the Scotch Giant, who, against all rules, 
was showing himself openly on the top of 
one of the big red wagons. They clapped 
delightedly when the manager rode by, and 
they kept up the applause while the long 
file of cowboys and cowgirls made their 
way by. They cheered the first elephant 
man with a will, but when the second driver 
heaved slowly past on his big swaying brute, 
they fairly outdid themselves in plaudits. 

“He looks mighty different to you now, 
doesn’t he?” whispered Philip, who had 
edged his way close during the progress of 
the affair. “I tell you, he looks good to me 
with that buttony driver on his noble brow.” 

“Think of them giving us two hundred 



218 


Betsy Hale Tries 


dollars!” said Betsy. “We’ve got fifteen 
hundred and seventy-nine dollars and fifty- 
four cents!” 

At that moment, just as the end of the 
procession passed, the head of it wound into 
sight again. Jimmy Delaney could not 
forbear a second round of applause. He 
rode close to the curb now and he beckoned 
to the trio as he approached. 

“I’m goin’ to be a elyphant driver, soon’s 
the old man there’s tired of his job,” he told 
them proudly. “He says I kin manage 
Jumbo well as he does. I’m with them 
for keeps now.” 

He was off again before there was a chance 
for questions. The three stood looking 
after him with mingled emotions. 

“Mrs. Delaney will be pretty lonely, with 
Mr. Delaney in Highville and Jimmy in 
the circus,” said Betsy. “I don’t see why 
she lets him go.” 

“Oh, she’ll come into the hospital work,” 
returned Selma easily. “But how Jimmy 
will ever learn to be an animal trainer with¬ 
out studying them in their lairs is a mystery 
to me. He can’t be much good at it, that’s 
all.” 



The Stranger Within the Gates 219 


“Piffle! He’ll do well enough,” declared 
Philip restlessly. “He’s a sharp little cuss 
and he’ll get on. He’ll see a lot of the world, 
too, going about as they do. I think he’s 
lucky, myself.” 

Betsy looked at him in alarm. “But, 
Phil, you wouldn’t want to go about with 
all those queer people and sleep anywhere 
and eat anyhow and have no education 
and-” 

He interrupted with a laugh. “Of course 
I wouldn’t. I want my own kind of people 
and my own sort of life. But I couldn’t 
help hankering after the fun that’s coming 
to Jimmy. Here, you two had better keep 
your eyes open. There’s Emma Clara beck¬ 
oning to you.” 

They had been too much occupied to 
think of Emma Clara until now. Selma 
had even forgotten to tell Betsy that the 
Simpson house was closed to her knock 
when she was summoning the hospital 
workers. They turned toward the spot to 
which Philip pointed, and Betsy’s eyes opened 
to their very widest, at Selma’s nudge and 
whisper. “It’s Dr. Stanton’s gray machine,” 
she said briefly. 



220 


Betsy Hale Tries 


And so it was. Dr. Stanton’s gray machine 
—the one which Emma Clara had been 
able to recognize from afar—was standing 
in the driveway by Worthington’s house, 
and the Doctor and Emma Clara were seated 
in it, while an eager throng was gathering 
beside it, shaking hands with both of the 
occupants and laughing and joking a great 
deal. 

“Well, you certainly did steal a march 
on us,” declared Mrs. Giles in her loudest 
tones. “I thought it was the short pants 
fellow that was sweet on ye, and here you’re 
a-saying that you’re promised to the Doctor. 
My, my, it’s a funny world, ain’t it?” 

Betsy looked at Selma and Selma looked 
at Betsy. “Engaged to Dr. Stanton!” 
gasped Selma incredulously. “I don’t see 
how that can be. The Major was perfectly 
devoted to her. Perhaps it’s a joke.” 

“A joke!” echoed Betsy indignantly. “Of 
course it isn’t a joke. Can’t you see how 
happy they look? Come on and congratulate 
them, like the rest are doing.” 

Her heart was singing within her now. 
The fifteen hundred mark had been passed. 



The Stranger Within the Gates 221 


Emma Clara, her dear friend and companion, 
was not to be carried off by a stranger. 
She hurried up to the side of the gray run¬ 
about and she held out her two hands to 
Emma Clara, who had been waiting for her. 

“How perfectly sweet of you to get en¬ 
gaged right now,” she cried with shining eyes. 
“I do hope you’ll be married very soon.” 

Betsy had to give way then to other press¬ 
ing friends, and she stepped down off the 
running board to join Selma, who was hover¬ 
ing in the distance, talking to Major Hast¬ 
ings. Betsy wondered if he felt saddened 
by the announcement, but as she came up 
to him, she could see nothing on his kind, 
pleasant face to show that he was a dis¬ 
appointed man. 

“Isn’t it all coming out beautifully?” 
she asked him exultantly. “Over fifteen 
hundred dollars, and Emma Clara engaged—” 
She broke off, rather confused, for she had 
meant to rejoice in the fact that he, the 
Major, was not the lucky man. “And 
Jimmy Delaney so clever and funny on his 
donkey,” she hurried on. “It’s the life he’s 
fitted for, I believe, and he’ll do well in it.” 



222 


Betsy Hale Tries 


The tall Major said nothing. He smiled 
down on her flushed face with an under¬ 
standing smile, but he did not help her with 
words. Selma, too, was silent. Suddenly 
Betsy remembered the Major’s gift, and her 
confusion passed into real gratitude. 

“How lovely of you to give the X-ray 
outfit,” she said heartily. She quite forgave 
him now for not putting in the money instead. 
“It’ll be a wonderful thing to have right 
here in the village. I suppose Miss Willie 
Welch can "come back home to stay when 
it’s ready to use. All of us are very grateful 
to you. Major Hastings.” 

He took the hand she offered in her grati¬ 
tude, and he held it in a strong, warm clasp. 
“It’s partly your doings. Miss Betsy Hale,” 
he said with a smile. “If you hadn’t insisted 
on nabbing me for that blessed Garden Party, 
I probably shouldn’t have ever known of your 
hospital and its needs.” He dropped her 
hands and his eyes strayed out toward the 
Highville Road, where it lost itself among 
the trees. “It will be fun to make Bessie 
Bond sit up and take notice, though,” he 
added as though to himself. 




“It’s Partly Your Doings, Miss Betsy Hale” 




















































































km 





The Stranger Within the Gates 223 


The two girls discussed this speech very 
thoroughly when they were on the way to 
the Wee Corner again. 

“He must have known Mrs. Bond before,” 
Betsy said very positively. “He called her 
by her first name.” 

“Well, we’ll have to just wait and see,” 
declared Selma. “He must have meant 
something by it.” 

It was exactly at sunset time, that golden 
hour for the Hospital Fund, that they found 
out what Major Hastings meant by his 
strange speech. 

Selma was to take supper with Betsy and 
her mother in the summer house and Philip 
was also to be there if he could finish his 
belated garden work in time. He had neg¬ 
lected his daily portion in the vivid interest 
of the day and was paying up for it, as most 
people have to pay for neglected duties. 

The town clock was striking seven, and 
even Mrs. Hale had given him up and had 
just told Lucy to bring out the supper, when 
he shot down the slope from the village 
and burst in upon them with triumph on 
every feature. 



224 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“Five thousand dollars in one whack!” 
he cried. “What do you think of that? 
Major Hastings has given five thousand to 
the Fund just this very minute. Jiminy, 
but they’re all stirred up over it!” 

After the rejoicings had moderated some¬ 
what he added some gossip to his astound¬ 
ing news. “He’s as rich as Croesus and he 
used to be sweet on Mrs. Bond when she 
was a girl. Old Tomlinson recognized him 
today—first time he’d seen him since he 
came—and he says he’s Hastings Gordon, 
old Golden Gordon’s son, and he took his 
first name so’s to be quiet and comfortable 
while he’s getting well.” 

Betsy laughed as she thought of the fears 
she had had lest she was overtaxing the 
stranger’s purse in sending him to the Garden 
Party. 

“Well, it’s all come out beautifully.” she 
said happily. “We’ve such a lot of money 
for Mrs. Bond’s check. Think of it—sixty- 
six hundred and seventy-nine dollars and 
fifty-four cents. It’s sweet of the Major, 
isn’t it? I’m glad he’s so rich. I suppose 
he really didn’t want to marry Emma Clara 
at all” 



The Stranger Within the Gates 225 


“Pooh, he was only talking to her about the 
hospital,” interposed Philip. “He’s sweet 
on Mrs. Bond, same as he always was. At 
least, so old Tomlinson says. He says a 
Gordon never changes.” 

Mrs. Hale called them to order as Lucy 
set down the last dainty dish upon the pretty 
table in the summer house. “Supper is 
served, my dears,” she said in her sweet, 
clear voice, “We’ll talk about it all when 
we’re seated. Come, Philip. Selma, your 
place is here,” and she gently urged them 
to their places. 

When they were seated and the plates 
were being served, Betsy looked up at the 
western sky. High above the somber pines 
there was a streak of rose-colored light which 
was growing and changing, as she looked, 
into a yellow radiance. 

“See, Selma,” she said, with her eyes 
shining softly. “It’s going to be gold again 
tonight.” 

Selma looked and nodded placidly. “We’ll 
need all we can get,” she replied quietly. 
“Even a tiny hospital takes a lot to run 
it. I wonder how long it will be before it 


15 



226 


Betsy Hale Tries 


will be all done and Miss Willie can come 
back.” 

“Emma Clara will be married then,” 
cried Betsy, kindling into eagerness again. 
“Oh, I do hope it won’t be so very, very 
long!” 

“They’re going to send off the sum we’ve 
got precisely at midnight tonight,” said 
Philip. “Won’t it be jolly, Mrs. Hale, to 
get that check tomorrow?” 

Selma had been very thoughtful. “I 
wonder what would have happened if Betsy 
hadn’t had that sore throat?” she said slowly. 

Betsy laughed happily. “I wonder what 
I’d have done that afternoon without my 
ten-eent flag,” she said gaily. “It was the 
flag that made me try to be good. It’s only 
a ten-cent one, but it’s done pretty well, so 
far.” 



CHAPTER XIV 


A Happy Interlude 

B ETSY hurried over to see Emma Clara 
the next morning after breakfast. She 
wanted to talk over the great event of 
yesterday, and particularly Emma Clara's 
share of it. 

“To think she should have been so clever 
about it," she thought as she passed the 
beechwood copse. “It was just the thing to 
do, of course, because she'd have been bothered 
to death with questions from all the old ladies 
in the village if they'd have suspected any¬ 
thing like that." 

She saw Emma Clara's slim figure in the 
back garden and she had just put her hand on 
the gate when Selma hailed her from behind. 

“ Do wait for me," she called. “ I've some¬ 
thing more to tell. Oh, Emma Clara!" she 
added as she reached the gate and Betsy, “do 
come to the maple-tree seat, for you'll want 
to sit down to listen!" 

( 227 ) 


228 


Betsy Hale Tries 


Emma Clara laid down her trowel and came, 
laughing, to the low seat about the big old 
maple in the side yard. She pulled Betsy 
down beside her with a caressing hand. 

“Well, what is it now, Selma?” she asked 
gaily. “It’s good news, that’s plain. So 
take your time, my dear.” 

Selma drew a long breath. She enjoyed 
her audience and lingered over the enjoy¬ 
ment. “You’d never guess, so I’ll tell you 
right out,” she replied. “I’ll begin at the 
beginning. It was about eleven o’clock last 
night. I had gone to bed, but I wasn’t 
asleep. I was-thinking of the Fund and how 
much we’d got and about Emma Clara and 
about the Major, and, oh, about a lot of 
things.” 

“Yes, yes,” urged Betsy eagerly. “Do get 
on, Selma, or I’ll simply explode. Tell us 
what happened and then tell us how it 
happened.” 

But Selma was not to be moved. She went 
on placidly. “And as I was lying there wide 
awake I heard someone walking around the 
house. It was awfully late for anything but 
burglars, but I never once thought of burglars. 



A Happy Interlude 


229 


I jumped up and looked out of the window, 
and who do you think I saw?” 

She paused so long that Betsy burst out 
impetuously, “Oh, anyone! Do go on, please.” 

“It was Major Hastings Gordon,” Selma 
told them impressively. “He went right to 
father’s office, where the light was burning— 
father was waiting for midnight so he could 
send the telephone message to Mrs. Bond, 
you know—and he went in. I sat on the 
window sill and I almost died of sleep before 
he came out. He was there nearly an hour, 
I guess, for he’d hardly gone, and I was just 
going back to bed when the other one came.” 

“The other one?” broke in Emma Clara 
and Betsy at once. “What other one?” 

“You’d never guess him, either,” Selma 
told them triumphantly. “It was old Mr. 
Tomlinson, and he came creeping along so 
slowly that I’d never have known him if I 
hadn’t seen his long white beard as he went 
past the light at father’s window. He went 
in and stayed only a tiny little minute, and 
when he came out he stepped along as though 
he were in a great hurry. I guess he was 
afraid at first that he might go back and ask 
father for the check.” 



230 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“The cheek?” broke out her listeners 
eagerly. “What check?” 

Selma smiled gently at their excited faces. 
“Old Mr. Tomlinson’s check for a hundred 
dollars,” she replied evenly. “He’s promised 
a hundred every year he lives. Father says 
he’s betting against time, whatever that 
means.” 

“But I thought he was rather poor,” said 
Betsy. “He wears very old clothes and-” 

“You don’t know old John Tomlinson, my 
dear,” laughed Emma Clara. “He’s quite 
able to give a thousand if he liked. It’s a 
miracle, though, for him to give anything. 
I wonder how it happened.” 

Selma turned to Betsy. “You were right 
about Philip having done more than all the 
rest of us,” she said. “He’s been going 
over to Tomlinson’s every day and doing all 
sorts of little things for the old man, and he’s 
been talking hospital like a blue streak, but 
Mr. Tomlinson told father that he never once 
asked him to chip in with the others, and 
that’s what brought him around to giving 
the check. He said it made him feel too 
downright mean to hear about all that the 
other folks were doing. 



A Happy Interlude 


231 


“I don’t believe Philip meant to rub it in 
at all,” cried Betsy indignantly. “He isn’t 
that sort. He doesn’t hint about like that.” 

“Whatever Philip meant, we’ve got the 
money, and that’s the main thing, I suppose,” 
returned Selma pleasantly. 

Betsy was silenced, though she did not 
forgive old Mr. Tomlinson for his report of 
Philip’s motives. “Dear old Phil was doing 
him some kindnesses,” she thought with a 
flash of resentment,” and he took it for schem¬ 
ing. Phil’s much too honest for that sort of 
doings.” Then she caught what Emma 
Clara was saying and die forgot Philip’s 
wrongs. 

“Major Gordon told me he was going to 
give some money,” she was saying, “as well 
as the X-ray outfit. He didn’t say how much, 
though. I had an idea it was to be much 
more than five thousand.” 

“You see, he didn’t want to make Mrs. 
Bond give too much,” explained Selma ear¬ 
nestly. “Father says he seemed to think it a 
sort of joke at first to make her give more 
than we could collect for ourselves, but when 
he came to see how much the hospital really 



232 


Betsy Hale Tries 


needed, he decided to give his real big dona¬ 
tion today instead of yesterday. He came 
over last night to talk it over with father 
and he left the check with him, but it’s dated 
tomorrow and so it can’t be counted in with 
the twenty-ninth’s amount.” 

Betsy had listened as long as she could. 
“What—how much—” she began. “Do tell 
me what you’re talking about, Selma. Did 
Major Hastings—Gordon—give any more?” 

“Any more?” echoed Selma proudly. “I 
should say so. He’s given fifty thousand 
dollars right out, for another building next 
year, and he’ll give fifty thousand more to 
keep it running smoothly. He’s a regular 
millionaire, you know.” 

Betsy gasped. Such sums were too large 
for intimate, everyday reckonings. Her own 
small contribution shriveled into nothingness 
beside this magnificence. “And I thought 
Major Has—Gordon too poor to go to the 
Garden Party!” she exclaimed. Then she 
flashed about at Emma Clara. “Did you 
know he was a millionaire all along?” she 
demanded. 

Emma Clara laughed into her excited face. 



A Happy Interlude 


233 


“I knew he was"an old friend of Mrs. Bond’s 
and that he was far from poor. I knew he 
was here under a sort of disguise; he told me 
that the morning after he decided to stay in 
the village for a while. He showed me the 
picture of his father and mother in their New¬ 
port house. ’ I took a good look at it and I 
recognized his father from the pictures in the 
papers. We shook hands on it then, and he 
gave me the address of his sister who had the 
little girls I was to make those lovely dresses 
for. 55 1 

Betsy turned to Selma with a laugh. “So 
that was the handshaking and the keepsake 
that he gave her! You weren’t so clever 
about it, after all.” To Emma Clara she 
explained: “She thought the Major was mak¬ 
ing love to you, and we were dreadfully 
excited over it.” 

“So were most of the rest of them,” laughed 
Emma Clara. “But your mother was in the 
secret—I had to have that much relief^-and so 
was the Doctor after the second or third 
day.” 

Betsy laughed a low ripple, remembering 
her mother’s hesitating manner when she had 



234 


Betsy Hale Tries 


put her question. “ We’ve had a lot of excite¬ 
ment for nothing , 55 she said. “It’s all come 
out beautifully, though. And, oh, Emma 
Clara, you’ll be married sooner than you 
thought, won’t you ? 55 

Emma Clara blushed and laughed happily. 
“We’ll have to see about that , 55 she replied 
softly. “It takes some time to get ready, 
you know . 55 

To their eager questioning, however, she 
did confess that she had the wedding all 
planned. She would be married in the little 
church with Mr. Gaston officiating and with 
Selma and Betsy for maids. “I won’t have 
another soul,” she said decisively. “The 
Doctor will have Dr. Harper from Cheston 
for his best man, and there will be some ushers, 
I suppose; but I’ll have just you two girls, 
and you’ll be in the very palest pink with 
little white veils and posy bouquets.” 

Betsy’s raptures were not to be held in a 
moment longer. “Oh, Emma Clara, can’t 
you hurry up and have it soon?” she cried 
ardently. “I simply can’t wait too long. 
It sounds so deliciously beautiful!” 

Emma Clara laughed and pinched her 



A Happy Interlude 


235 


cheek. 66 Wait and see,” she quoted, 

“ ‘Time will tell’.” 

The wedding did not come off quite so soon 
as Betsy would have wished, but it was 
arranged much earlier than there had been 
any thought of having it. . Mrs. Bond’s gen¬ 
erous check for fourteen thousand came as 
she had promised and the money so unex¬ 
pectedly showered on the little hospital made 
things move at a lively rate. Mr. Simpson, 
who had the contract from Mr. Gaston for 
alterations of Miss Willie’s roomy old man¬ 
sion on the back road, pushed the building 
at a rapid rate—being perhaps pushed in his 
turn by the Doctor and Emma Clara. “It’ll 
be ready a month sooner than we calc’lated 
on,” he told the committee when they were 
discussing matters at the first meeting after 
Mrs. Bond’s check had arrived. 

Major Gordon, too, had a hand in the pie. 
He stayed on in the village long after his two 
weeks were up and he was constantly ordering 
supplies before they were needed, or thinking 
up some new donation that might facilitate 
the work. By the end of August, the date 
for the opening of the hospital was set, and 
Emma Clara’s wedding day was announced. 



236 


Betsy Hale Tries 


In the swift-flying days till the fifteenth, 
the date set for the marriage, Betsy found the 
hours all too short for what she wanted to 
put in them. The music pupils had dropped 
off, but she had other duties that kept her 
occupied. She was learning to sew very 
neatly and she was making a pretty crepe 
negligee for Emma Clara’s trousseau, and that 
took a great deal of time and thought. 

Philip, too, gave her something to think of. 

They were skimming stones in the brook 
one afternoon on their way home from a 
visit of inspection to the hospital buildings. 

Philip sat staring down into the brown, 
mossy depths before him. “See here,” he 
broke out unexpectedly, “you’ve got to prom¬ 
ise me you won’t tell. It’s a real secret, but 
I don’t like to keep it from you. Will you 
promise?” 

Betsy nodded eagerly, holding out her 
hand to bind the promise. 

“I’m going to be a surgeon,” he told her 
earnestly. “I’ve been thinking about it 
ever since this hospital business started and 
I went over with Doc Stanton the other day 
to that accident in Holbrook. And when I 



A Happy Interlude 


237 


saw him get out his instruments and begin to 
work so calm and orderly and quick, something 
inside of me warmed right up to it, and I 
knew what I was cut out for.” 

“Oh, Phil, how perfectly lovely!” cried 
Betsy in a glow. “Then you’ll be here all 
your life and we shan’t have to do without 
you. I’m so glad.” 

He grinned at her sheepishly, with his 
reticence coming back strongly upon him. 
“Maybe they won’t let me chop them up 
here,” he flung back, slamming a stone with 
careful aim. “But I’ll do it somewhere, I 
can tell you that. Hi, there’s a double- 
decker! See if you can match that.” 

Betsy knew she must say no more about 
the matter, but she was very proud of Philip’s 
inclination toward surgery. “It takes very 
clever men to do it well,” she thought as she 
went home, with Mac and the Major’s chap 
racing across the fields before her. “Dear 
old Phil is clever enough for anything, though. 
How sweet it was of him to tell me about it.” 

She laughed a little as she reached the flag- 
path gate. 

“He doesn’t dream of the surprise there is 



238 


Betsy Hale Tries 


for him” she said happily. “And I did it all 
without asking. I just talked about his part 
in the hospital doings, and the Major and 
Doctor Stanton did the rest. I hope I can 
keep it in until the Opening Day.” 



CHAPTER XV 


Big Flags and Little Flags 

^ SPHERE, I did keep it to myself,” 
Betsy said triumphantly on the 
morning of the great day. “Phil 
will see I can keep other secrets than his.” 

It was the first day of September and not a 
cloud was in the sky. 

In the two weeks that had passed since 
Emma Clara’s wedding Betsy had been in a 
fever of excitement lest any of the plans 
might miscarry or any of the actors in the 
opening exercises might be hindered from 
appearing. The morning had dawned clear 
and bright, however, with every prospect of a 
perfect realization of all her hopes. 

In the first place, Emma Clara and the 
Doctor had come home on the late train yes¬ 
terday, and so Betsy was sure of them. She 
had rushed over to the Doctor’s house as 
soon as breakfast was over, and clasped in 
Emma Clara’s warm arms, she had talked 
( 239 ) 


240 


Betsy Hale Tries 


over the delights of the wedding and told her 
friend all that had happened since that event. 

“It’s only such a very little while, too,” 
wondered Betsy, remembering with all her 
might. “ Everything’s changed now, although 
it’s pretty much the same, too. The dear 
Wee Corner is the same and you and Philip 
and the rest are the same, only nicer. Mother 
is as sweet as ever, and the village is just as 
pretty as it ever was. The nice part is all 
there, but it’s got so much nicer. It’s sort of 
spread out, you know, until everything is 
better and happier.” 

Emma Clara nodded. She understood. 
“It’s love and kindness and helping one 
another that has done it,” she said slowly. 
“I suppose that is the secret of most of the 
happiness in the world,—wanting to do things 
for others—trying to be of service.” 

A memory of the thrill that had stirred 
within her at the sight of the big flag at the 
cross-roads flashed into Betsy’s mind. She 
recalled the great ambitions of those first 
days and she sighed a little fluttering sigh. 

“Some people are able to do such big 
things,” she said wistfully. “It’s pretty 



Big Flags and Little Flags 


241 


hard to be just a ten-cent size,” and then she 
started as she saw Selma in the doorway. 

“Your mother says you are to come home 
and dress at once,” she told Betsy impres¬ 
sively. “You’ve got to look very well today, 
you know.” 

Betsy thought that Selma’s sudden pause 
was due to some signal from Emma Clara, 
but she was too happy to stop to investigate. 
“I’ll be there in a jiffy,” she said, springing 
up readily, and with a final kiss and promise 
to be on time, she joined Selma, who was 
already in the road. 

“It’s all going splendidly,” Selma told her 
as they hurried along. “Miss Willie has 
come home and is to take her first treatment 
tomorrow. She says that X-ray outfit is a 
godsend to her, and she knows that she’ll 
get well for keeps now that she can stay 
here where she belongs. She sent the queer¬ 
est message to you, though.” 

“What is it?” asked Betsy, kindling. She 
thought of the faery nook and of the other 
side of Miss Willie’s house, and she knew she 
should have an unusual message from her 
eccentric friend. 


10 



242 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“She says that the Nickleman is waiting 
for you at the old place,” Selma repeated 
with a pucker of curiosity on her smooth 
brow. “What does she mean by that? It 
sounds like gibberish to me.” 

Betsy was saved the trouble of evasion by 
Philip’s hail from the hedge nearby. He was 
getting some wild flowers for Mr. Gaston's 
study table—a daily offering on his part and 
one that he had fought several of the town 
boys for criticising. 

“The Bonds have come,” he called as they 
halted. “Helen’s ever so fat. You ought to 
see her. They’re stopping at Bogart’s and 
Major Gordon is as thick as mush with 
them.”^ 

“Is that all?” asked Selma with quiet indif¬ 
ference. “Thought you had something great 
to tell us.” 

Nevertheless when they were hurrying on 
again, she was the one who was most inter¬ 
ested. “Perhaps Mrs. Bond will fall in love 
with him at last,” she said with relish. 
“Wouldn’t it be great if he married her and 
lived at the Shrubberies?” 

Betsy scouted the idea. “Mrs. Bond is 



Big Flags and Little Flags 


243 


too old to fall in love. She’s almost forty, 
and people of forty don’t fall in love, I should 
hope.” 

They parted at the corner and Betsy ran 
on to the Wee Corner to find her mother 
waiting and her clothes ready for her. She 
stopped in astonishment as she saw what lay 
on her bed. 

“But I wasn’t to wear my bridesmaid’s 
dress,” she cried. “I thought-” 

Mrs. Hale silenced her gently. “Hop into 
it as soon as you’ve bathed and combed,” she 
said in the tone that Betsy never questioned. 
“We’ve no time to argue.” 

Betsy wondered at the haste with which 
she was arrayed. The anxious care her 
mother displayed that her hair should be 
smooth and her ribbon should be carefully 
tied, that her slippers should be immaculate 
and her dress complete, caused her a flitting 
moment of wonder, for she knew that she was 
to be among the audience on the benches, 
while Mrs. Hale and the other promoters of 
the hospital were to be on the raised platform 
where the exercises and speeches were to be 
delivered. 



244 


Betsy Hale Tries 


As she was taking a final survey of herself 
in the mirror to make sure her hair was quite 
right, the toot of a horn sounded from below, 
and her mother beckoned her. 

“Helen Bond has come for us, my dear,” 
she told her as they hurried downstairs. 
“She is wild to see you, and will take us over 
to the hospital with her. 

“Where’s Mrs. Bond?” asked Betsy, as the 
front door was reached. “Isn’t she coming, 
too?” 

Mrs. Hale smiled a queer little smile. “She 
will go with other people,” she replied hastily. 
“Be quick now, my dear. We’ll be late if 
we don’t hurry.” 

Betsy stepped out on the door-stone, and 
the magic began. 

There by the machine, with her face 
wreathed in eager smiles of welcome, sat 
Helen Bond, not fat as Philip had pictured 
her, but rosy and happy looking as any girl 
need be. She sprang to greet Betsy with a 
hearty kiss and then she turned to Mrs. Hale, 
who was stepping into the car. 

Betsy sat back among the soft cushions 
while her mother and Helen chattered on 



Big Flags and Little Flags 


245 


together in the friendliest way possible. She 
heard Philip’s name more than once and her 
heart beat quickly as she heard it. 

“ Dear old Phil will have a surprise when he 
gets there,” she thought with a joyful bounce 
that she restrained instantly as endangering 
her fluffity frock. “He doesn’t dream that 
the orator from the city is going to speak of 
him when he tells the story of how the hospital 
was started. Oh, how lovely it was that I 
could get Major Gordon to listen to so much 
talk about Phil’s part in it. He did it, I’m 
sure, for no one else would have dared insist 
that a real public orator should speak about a 
mere boy. I hope he’ll like it, that’s all.” 

They were at the hospital gates before she 
could decide whether Philip would enjoy his 
moment of triumph to its full, or whether it 
would take time to reconcile him to the glory 
of public praise. 

“He’s bound to like it, sooner or later,” she 
said as she followed Mrs. Hale and Helen from 
the machine. “It’s perfectly lovely to be 
praised—when you’ve been good.” 

Helen turned to the ranks of well-filled 
benches. “I’ll slip in here where I can see 



246 


Betsy Hale Tries 


you both,” she said, and was making for the 
second row when Betsy stopped her. 

“We’ll have to have two together,” said 
Betsy, trying to slide her hand from her 
mother’s gentle grasp. “Mother will be on 
the platform and-” 

“And that’s where you’re to be,” ended 
Helen, laughing at her puzzled face. “You’re 
on the platform, right next to Philip. I 
heard them arranging it this morning before I 
came for you.” 

She slipped away then, and Betsy, dazed 
and flushing, followed her mother to the 
steps of the wooden platform. 

At the first step she hesitated. “Are you 
sure?” she asked, and at her mother’s nod 
and smile, she stumbled on blindly after her, 
knowing that there could be no evasion of 
the high fate that waited there above. 

She tripped on the second step, caught 
herself quickly, heard a ripple of amuse¬ 
ment run about the benches behind her, 
and blushed a hot crimson at her own awk¬ 
wardness. 

The next moment her eye caught a familiar 
ripple of color. All about the big stand ran a 



Big Flags and Little Flags 


247 


drapery of red, white and blue, and as Betsy’s 
excited glance rested mechanically on the 
beloved colors, her embarrassment passed 
and she was herself again. The flag had 
called her once again and she was quick to 
respond to that call, even though it might 
be in her poor little ten-cent way. 

She walked quietly up the rest of the steps 
behind her mother, and followed her to the 
empty chairs on the other side of the platform. 
She did not think of herself at all now. The 
hospital and its needs, the services that 
others had offered so freely were in her mind 
as she sat down in her place and looked out 
over the sea of faces below her. 

One by one, she recognized them. Mrs. 
Delaney was there in her best bib and tucker, 
smiling and waving at Betsy with all her 
warm Irish heart. Old Mr. Tomlinson was 
on the front bench with his ear trumpet in 
evidence, intent on getting as much as possi¬ 
ble for his money, and, most delightful of all, 
Mr. Si Myers with his pale cheerful face all 
wreathed in smiles was there, too. How 
Betsy’s heart glowed as she looked down at 
him. 



248 


Betsy Hale Tries 


“He ought to be up here right in the very 
front,” she thought. “He was one of the 
very first starters of it, though he doesn’t 
know it.” 

Then she fell to wondering why Philip did 
not come. She knew he was to have a seat 
on the platform, and the empty chair next 
her own had his name scribbled on the back. 
“He surely can’t have gotten wind of what 
was going to happen and have run away,” 
she thought uneasily. 

But in another minute she was reassured. 
Philip came up the steps with Squire and 
Mrs. Worthington and Selma, and he came 
toward his chair with the calmest manner in 
the world, nodding to her as he sat down, and 
then turning his whole attention to the crowd 
on the benches and beyond. Apparently he 
had no idea that he was to be one of the 
features of the day. 

Betsy watched him carefully when the 
exercises began. During the opening prayer 
she peeped at him once or twice, but he 
seemed entirely absorbed and unconscious. 
When the orator was introduced and had 
bowed his gracious response to the applause 



Big Flags and Little Flags 


249 


that greeted him, she fairly held her breath 
for the words that she so longed to hear. 

What she heard was a great surprise to her. 

“We say that we do not disregard the day 
of small things,” he said in his deep, rolling 
voice. “We speak of the power of little 
things. Where shall we find it more clearly 
shown than here in our midst today? This 
hospital with its operating room and its X-ray 
department, with its comfortable ward and 
its four handsome private rooms, owes its 
substantial being to the inspiration of one 
young girl, to the persistence of another, 
almost a child in years, and to the energy and 
capacity of a fourteen-year-old boy. 

“WTien Betsy Hale”—here Betsy gave a 
great start and blush—“gazing on the mighty 
emblem of our nation’s hopes, was first 
stirred by a desire for service to that nation ” 
—here Betsy flung a reproachful glance at 
Philip, whose guilty face showed her suspi¬ 
cions correct—“when, almost in the lisping 
accents of infancy this young creature”— 
here Betsy sat up very straight, trying to 
appear as old as possible—“this young crea¬ 
ture urged upon her elders the task that was 



250 


Betsy Hale Tries 


too great for such frail hands, the hospital 
had its beginning.” 

He had to wait at least a minute for the 
applause to die down, and Betsy took the 
occasion to whisper sharply to Philip, “You 
told, you mean thing!” 

Philip grinned back, “Well, you’ve got me 
in it, too.” 

And then the great man went on. “When, 
at the instigation of the younger element the 
interest was perhaps too lax, who but another 
youthful spirit, a boy of resource and enter¬ 
prise, fanned the flame to burning by the 
children’s parade. Philip Meade well merits 
the honor which is to be his today, the honor 
of raising the banner which is to float above 
the house of healing; and to Philip Meade I 
accord all the honor which is due.” 

Another pause for applause and then the 
climax: “To Betsy Hale and to Selma 

Worthington and to Philip Meade belongs 
the honor of pointing the way which the 
generous-hearted, public-minded citizens of 
this beautiful town were so quick to follow. 
‘A little child shall lead them.’ My brothers, 
it has been proved to us beyond a doubt that 
Scripture does not err.” 



Big Flags and Little Flags 


251 


Betsy could not bear very much more, and 
she was glad that the gifted orator took up 
the praises of the real projectors of the hos¬ 
pital scheme. She looked at Philip sideways, 
but he was staring into his hat with a face 
too red for comfort. She glanced at Selma 
then and saw that that young lady was better 
framed for public praise than either Philip 
or herself, for Selma was calm and placid. 
She leaned over a little to whisper to Betsy as 
the speech went on. 

“He needn’t to have lugged me into it at 
all,” she said with gentle gratitude to the 
speaker. “I didn’t do anything except keep 
up with you two. I guess he did it because 
Father is squire and all that.” 

Betsy, remembering, was quick to whisper 
back, “You were the very first, for you told 
me about it in the beginning when we were 
coming^home from the circus parade that 
day.” ^ 

Selma sank back in her seat, shaking her 
head gently, with her pink lips pressed firmly 
together. Although she could not put her 
denial into words, she was far from being 
convinced. 



252 


Betsy Hale Tries 


It seemed an eternity to Betsy sitting there 
in the full glare of public scrutiny before the 
orator had ended and the Major had his turn. 
His speech was short and plain and practical 
and he did not keep his audience long. He 
sat down amid a storm of applause, and 
Betsy could hear old Mr. Tomlinson’s shrill 
voice from the front row, “Thet short pants 
fellow’s got more sense then ’em all.” 

After the Doctor’s short address of welcome 
and the formal presentation of the house in 
the name of Miss Willie Welch, who was on 
the platform back of Mrs. Bond; and of the 
alterations and repairs in the name of Mr. 
Gaston, who had been the first on the pro¬ 
gram; and the announcement of the liberal 
donations from all the sources, the orator 
rose again. 

“The flag to be raised today is presented 
by Miss Helen Bond,” he announced in his 
sonorous tones. “Mr. Philip Meade, who is 
to have the honor of raising the heroic emblem 
in recognition of his services to the town of 
his adoption, will please step forward.” 

Betsy’s heart almost stopped beating. Sup¬ 
pose Philip would balk and ruin the carefully 



Big Flags and Little Flags 


253 


planned reward of service! Suppose he should 
be too shy to answer the call! 

She need not have trembled for Philip, 
however, as she saw in another moment. 

He rose and went forward quickly and 
quietly with his head erect and his face com¬ 
posed. He bowed to the great man as he 
reached the big white flag-pole where the 
beautiful silken banner was being adjusted to 
the ropes, and at the signal he took the cords 
into his hands. 

As the assembly rose Betsy had a glimpse 
of his face as he watched the brilliant flag 
soaring upward on its tight-held ropes. It 
was shining with a great adoration as his 
eyes followed the floating stars and stripes. 
She knew what a thrill possessed him, and a 
shiver went down her own back as she too 
looked upward. 

The starry field showed bright against the 
clear sky and the red and white stripes flut¬ 
tered joyously out in the free air. All of the 
great silky banner seemed vibrant with life, 
and strength, and hope. 

Betsy looked up at it floating there in the 
sunshine and once more the tears stood in 



254 


Betsy Hale Tries 


her eager eyes, and once again slie felt the 

call. 

“It isn’t the size that makes the difference,” 
she murmured. “It’s the same flag, whether 
it’s large or small.” 

After the singing of the “Star Spangled 
Banner” and the closing prayer, she went 
down the wooden steps again with the others. 
Selma was beside her and Philip was back of 
her, but it was to Philip that she turned. 

“It was the flag that did it all, wasn’t it, 
Phil?” she said with conviction. “It just 
makes you want to do things for it.” 

And with that last adjustment of the credit 
of the affair, she looked back over her shoulder 
with a long, lingering, loving look. 

The flag was floating out in the sunshine, 
rising and falling on the summer wind, beck¬ 
oning and promising as of old. 


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